Mother Barry

a word about Charity and TOMS

2011-07-13T10:10:00.001-07:00

Here is the thing. I believe you be good to Mama (earth) and she'll be good to you. I drive a hybrid. I recycle when it's convenient. I do not however get the whole TOMS craze? These shoes are ugly. I get that they send a pair to poor kids in turn. That is nice, but they are ugly. I say write a check. Make a difference. Get the kid some damn KEDS. The only thing worse than being underprivileged is having to wear shoes that look unfinished. This isn't always a bad idea in theory- see Save The Children Ties for crying out loud. But I can't wrap my head around or put my feet in those shoes.

fat's not ugly when it's tan

2011-07-01T07:50:00.000-07:00

I have a couple of words of conflicting advice for you honeys about summer fun,

1) wear sunscreen. you don't want to end up leathery when you're old

2) fat's not ugly when it's tan

See kiddos, life is about balance.

(remember my addage "1 margarita, 2 margaritahh, 3 marsgatittaz, floor." You can do too much of a good thing)
...And watch out for sand in those delicate places. Nothing ruins a good time like a bad rash.

farmers markets...

2011-06-04T10:25:00.000-07:00

Today, I got in my hybrid and I drove to the farmer's market. I felt like I was saving the world and making it a better place with every mile I drove. When I got there I realized it wasn't exactly my scene. I stepped in dog poo. I forget earth-lovers are also typically dog lovers who feel the need to bring said dogs everywhere hence leaving doggy presents for farmers market shoppers.

I bought some delicious bread for $5, though I would have paid $10 to have the lady selling to me shut the hell up. These folks are proud. Then I got some zucchini for a salad I plan to make sometime in the future. I find it is best to have aspirations and I couldn't leave with just a loaf of bread.

I ran into a friend and met her sister who was with her. They suggested I try the local pop cycle stand. It is at this point I made a tragic mistake by not understanding my environment...I told them that I had been to Whole Foods the day before and a chicken breast was $7. YES, one breast was $7- because it was $12/lb. I explained how ludicrous this was to me when hippie sister chirped up- " Did you see FOOD INC. ... It will make you understand why the chicken is worth it." SO, I replied, "yes, I did and those chickens should have been nominated for an Oscar. We always overlook poultry talent." My line bombed. I had to recover so I said, " I should have known the chicken would cost that, I'm sure it was prepared by someone with an MBA." She smiled but I could tell she didn't enjoy me. White people often enjoy jokes about higher education.

Note to self: remember audience

a word about Elizabeth Taylor

2011-06-03T18:33:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've posted. I always say, if you don't have anything good to say shut the hell up. But, recently, I find myself thinking about Elizabeth Taylor...

All my life I idolized Liz Taylor. I found her to be the most glamorous and beautiful woman ever, ever, and still. I fantasized about meeting her. I was genuinely sad to hear of her passing but I was shocked just last week to see her home.

To me Liz was IT. She was old hollywood elegance. I wanted to live like Liz. Hell she was sassy, respected, notorious, did I say glamorus? She was one hell of a humanitarian and she knew how to party. To me, Liz lived like Liz and no one else. Hell she had to get her hips replaced and I think we all know why.

Now recently, her home has been put on the market and all my ridiculous notions of how Ms. Taylor lived have been rocked. I always imagined Liz to live in some huge-gantic Bel Air spread. I pictured cream colored stucco and a vegas sized fountain. I had read her house had Israeli guards, which is/was true. But the house itself is a large sprawling ranch. Yes, Liz Taylor lived in a ranch home. Don't get me wrong... it looks lovely and down right homey. It's nothing like I had anticipated. I pictured formal and intimidating and fancy for Christ sake. Imagine all those diamonds in a rancher! The Maybach looks so out of place in front of that house.

But the truth is, it was a home. So, I'm impressed. Here you have a woman who could live anyway she wants and she lives comfortably. It really changed my outlook on life. All this time, I was aspiring to Dynasty when comfort was the way she lived. Goes to show you... you never know.

Now for a little bit I read on the interwebs... Some kid said he went to ET's house once:
"I had been an art student and visited museums and my university often had these amazing rare collections on loan from the "Rich Mr. Smith collection" or the " Rich- this or that foundation" always displaying a very impressive name of some rich family. But from time to time there were some marked anonymous. I guess the owners wanted to be private. Well once I went to visit Ms. Taylor's residence, actually to return a painting that was on loan and having no idea whose home I was entering... and I saw several paintings that were... anonymous's. So I was excited to meet her. Elizabeth had to sign the paperwork and I said it is so nice to meet you- "you're anonymous!"

the truth about Cicadas

2011-05-16T16:59:00.000-07:00

Down here in the South, we're all getting used to our unwelcome house guests, the cicadas. My suster told me a lot of you childrun don't know what a cicada is, she said some of you might think it's the name of the local drag queen. But, in fact, it's just a bug. It's not a particularly pretty bug and I would say it's a kin to a locust. Maybe like your cousins you don't talk to except when you see them at Thanksgiving or Christmas... the ones you won't friend request on facebook because you don't really get to pick your relations.

I digress... these ugly ass bugs are not that different than you and me. They live under ground for something like 13 years. Then the come up out of the ground and mate and then they die. Well honeys, I lived practically under ground for 21 years, came out, got screwed and now I'm just passing time. But these nasty things don't pay rent, leave their shells all over the place like your in - grate children leave they clothes out all the damn time and you haven't even paid off the Macy's card before they done gone and runned 'em.

Back to the bugs, they just damn nasty. They make a lot of noise at night, again, much like a teenager... but then after 4-6 weeks they are gone... for 13 more years. And we are left to pick up the mess, the dead bugs and the endo skeletons not to mention they produce droppings. It's just not hygentical. I know it's not a word but bugs don't have hygiene - have you ever seen a cicada in CVS? I don't think so.

So the best I can tell you is this, just shut the hell up and deal with it. Pass the time with a mint julip or a nice bubbly white wine cooler or something. It's just going to be Spring this year, but for cryin' out loud wear socks, because that crunch is just not a good sound.

a shout out for shout's sake

2011-04-27T17:46:00.000-07:00

I wrote this letter to the owners of the real estate company who just handled my house buying and selling. I like this letter and I hope you do, too:

Dear Ms. & Ms. Real Estate Mavens,
You know how people always write a letter of complaint when they don't like something, or they get bad service? Well, I think it's just as important to write and let you know how wonderful and fantastic my experience was with your company, in particular working with agent Elaine. I met Elaine when she answered the door to show me my new-soon-to-be-home at Charlesgate and it was just like seeing an old friend. Old in this case refers to length of acquaintance rather than age. Elaine was so friendly, I felt like I knew her my whole life... and she didn't have to sell me much on the house, however she did have to deal with me on the purchase. And, deal she did. She even played hide and seek with my nephews during the inspection. Then, after selling me that house I decided to let Elaine list my other house on Copeland. Let me tell you, even prior to getting the listing that woman worked! She sent over potential buyers and builders to check out my house. My house was no million dollar listing but I felt like it. Elaine is just charming. Who else can tell you that your wallpaper is ugly and you laugh? She even gave me a punch list and it didn't make me want to punch her. She even brought over her own flowers and white bath towels, which we are sure closed the house. Seriously, when we were selling she was a rock star. The house was under contract in two days. Best yet, she got the buyer up on price even when I was yelling through the phone, "let's just take it, let's go with it, I'll sign the damn thing." And, thank God she did because I needed that money on the back end after inspections. Listen, I negotiate with people for a living, but Elaine had be wrapped around her finger the whole way; this as you may imagine is no easy feat. I know I'm just gushing about Elaine and she is kind of a shy person but, come on, she sold the house in two days and got me top dollar in this market- she deserves some sort of a shout out. So, I just wanted to make sure you ladies know how special she is and how much I adore her. More over, I want you all to know how much I appreciated the whole ease of this transaction. Tonight, as I sit back with a glass of wine (or three) I take a breath and realized just how fast and how amazingly well this whole process went. You have no idea the sense of relief I feel, and it's more than the merlot talking. I was prepared to wait out a tough market, maybe lose some money, or worst yet... rent my house out. Can you imagine me as your landlord? That couldn't end well. I can't thank Elaine enough. My family and friends can't thank her enough because they would have had a hard time if that place sat empty dealing with my emotions. I don't know if there's something special in way of recognition you can offer Elaine, maybe a corner office, a trip to the bahamas, nominate her for realtor of the year, or get her an assigned parking spot. Or maybe you can embarrass her by reading this inappropriate email at her sales meeting? It's really kind of a love letter, isn't it? My only regret is that I don't have another house to sell, but give me a little time.

Yours,
Brian Barry
the happy homeowner

easter is scary

2011-04-13T16:04:00.000-07:00

As a child Easter always scared me. Granted, I always found solace in the candy. We'd go out to my great uncle's farm and hunt for eggs. There were tons of people there and lots of cousins whose names I never learned. I hated them. They were competition. There was one golden egg, a spay painted hosiery egg with a $20 bill in it and it was mine. I won it most years because my grandmother would take me right to it. I got it honest, what can I say? Get the damn money, you can buy your own candy... she always mentioned that between cigarettes.

Besides that, Easter made me nervous. We'd go to the church for sunrise service. My first memories were getting to the church while it is dark out waiting for the zombie Jesus to arise. I know that's not exactly how it is, but that is how I remember feeling. I even hated dying eggs, (1) what a mess and (2) eggs break, who needs that added stress.

Today my favorite part of the holiday is the Reese's peanut butter chocolate covered eggs. Actually, the best part of the holiday is when they go on sale. I'm stress eating a bag right now... much love.

on moving... ( an essay)

2011-04-12T17:46:00.000-07:00

For those of you that don't know, but do care, I recently moved. It has consumed nearly every moment of every day of my life for the last month. You would think that a single person, living alone, wouldn't have all that much to move. When I tell you that I only moved one half mile away, just a few streets away you might poo-poo my move. But, let me tell you sister friends, it has been a feat of misery and patience. The actual process was quick and almost painless, almost too quick. In two days I had an offer. In another week I had an inspection report and a demand for concessions on the offer. I was sure, and I think I still am, that it was the right thing to do.

Why did I move, you may ask? I have no earthly idea. I think the only reason is because I felt like it. My old home was perfectly lovely and it was me. I had redone almost everything in the damn thing but I wanted a change. Have you ever had on your favorite outfit and thought, I really wish I had on something else? People say, " you look good in that," so you wear it everywhere you go because it makes you look thin, or it distracts from your double chin, or it has a forgiving waistline... that was my house. That little cottage became a part of me and my identity.

My identity needed to change. I wanted a more grown up house, and I got one. It was so exciting, well it was exciting until my furniture showed up and I realized I had to get all new stuff. To continue an already beaten to death analogy, that same good looking outfit- I out grew it. But, I tried to wear it with bigger pants and it didn't work. They don't make Spanx for your new house- they make TJ MAXX. So, I digress.

The thing I didn't account for was the move. I moved out and left the house staged. This is so that the house looks like someone lives there. Only not a normal someone, someone who is extremely neat and clean with very little belongings and perfect accessories. Well, mine was half assed but the damn thing sold in two days. So, I was beside my self happy. Still, I continued a few days to live in the new house with very little furniture. For a month I've been using empty boxes and side tables with lamps. I look like a refugee who fled his homeland with only lamps and flat screen televisions strapped to his raft. It was sad.

The first move wasn't bad, it's the second move. This time I have to pack all the things that weren't important enough to move the first time. Some of you might call this trash. It's the stuff in the closet you don't wear, or the things in the attic you don't really need or remember. But, to me, these things are memories. It feels really good to purge. I think that means to get rid of old clothes, but it may mean when you lie to a judge on the stand. Either way, it feels really good. But as I emptied the house, it felt sad. I felt so strange, like a part of me was going away.

A house is a structure, a building but it is part of you. Everything I see in the attic makes me wonder why I kept it and then I think of the memories. I fear getting rid of the item is like throwing away those old memories. An old desk chair reminds me of school and more innocent times. I have an old wreath my grandmother made and a lamp that was a hand-me-down that reminds me of my parent's first house. I am sentimental, but I don't want to end up on Goddamn Hoarders.

So, I toss most of the stuff, and save a few things to clutter up the new house. I've been going over almost every night and getting a few things. I have real A.D.D. about the move. I go from one room to the next taking one or two things, never finishing the task. I realized today, after having done this for a month that it is because I'm not ready, just yet, to let go of the house. It still feels like home, and I am worried I'll forget the memories. It's corny to say but it is true like that country song. There's something about your first house, it's just always your first house.

Your home is where your babies were raised. Hell, it's where your babies are made. Everywhere I look I remember something or someone in that house. I resent that someone else will be painting over my memories and if they decide to tear it down I might actually fall apart. Today, I was in the house for probably the next-to-last time and it all seemed different. The furniture's all gone, my hot tub and patio furniture are gone so the yard looks bare, it all seems different now. Then I looked at the walls where the pictures had hung, nail holes and scratches now proudly show how careless I hang art. It was then that I realized this isn't my house anymore, it's scratched walls and faded floors. And, I thought... that bitch better take care of my old house and she better not ask me to fill all these damn nail holes, it looks like somebody had shooting practice with a nail gun all up in here.

the thing about dancing

2011-03-06T07:13:00.000-08:00

The thing about dancing when you are over the age of 24, is that you just don't realize how you look. This is why it is best to dance when you've had a few drinks. However, it is dangerous that too much liquid courage leaves one feeling too brave.

If only you could see yourself - you may decide you are not, in fact, the dancing queen you think you are. I think I am smoov (with a v) when in fact I look like I may have systematically lost my balance. Let's not forget it is common place to judge one's bedroom talents against his or her dancing abilities. Apparently, I lay there and flop about now and then. This may be a very accurate rating system.

There really are only three kinds of people on the dance floor:
1) Good (generally young, because youth fades much like coordination)
2) Bad (look around)
3) People who stand around.
Note to the standers: it is always best to shift your weight from side-to-side to help with appearances. A good nod can be very accommodating. I find the occasional chest pat to be effective in making it appear you actually do "feel the beat."And, if you are brave put a hand up in the air, not two, two is a sign that you can no longer operate your motor vehicle. But one says, "I am having a good time and the music moves me."

I'm just making a helpful suggestion. You wouldn't leave the house with out checking your teeth and hair in the mirror... maybe check out those moves you think are so special in a full length first.

You go girl, no really go... you look like you're having an epileptic fit.

no doubt, exercise is dangerous for your health

2011-03-05T06:14:00.000-08:00

The older I get, I realize I keep hurting myself when I am trying to get myself into "shape." Sadly, this shape is broken. What's the song in that commercial? "Hands, feet, ankle, knees and toes" ... all broken, aches, pains. What a mess. Then I spend a whole week recovering from the injury that had me motivated to get into shape.

But, yesterday was just the worst, THE worst (well almost as bad as the treadmill episode). Here I was at the YMCA trying to do my work out. I got myself hauled up onto rowing machine. Have you seen this thing? It's a death trap that you sit on, pull a bar toward you that is tethered to a damn bike wheel. It's a disaster in and of it's self.

So, I get comfy and begin to pull the bard. Eureka! I enjoy this thing. I can feel my back working and my shoulders and I have an immense feeling of satisfaction. Keep in mind it is like minute 1:04 at this time. By minute three I think I am Olivia Newton John. Am picturing new wardrobe will have to buy and how people will ask, "what are you doing? you look great." I'll smile and reply, "Oh nothing, I'm just a rower."

When, SUDDENLY, I feel my body hurling backward and I see my leg rise up. This can only end badly for your humble narrator. I feel seat fly backwards as it has before but this time with more intensity. I realize at this fateful moment that... being lazy... I had put my feet into the foot harness but neglected to tighten the fasten. Well, I mean why would you? In my defense I didn't intend on any astronaut training today.

So, the leg goes up which throws off my balance and my ass flies off the back of the seat that abruptly stops at the end of the track. And, it was one of those moments where things happen in slow motion like right before you crash your car and you see it happen and you know you're going to collide and you realize it was because you didn't hit the brake or use your damn blinker.

In that moment, as I fall off the back of the machine sideways, I have no explanation for this but I thought it best to utter the word "fuck" loudly. Not in a loud tone, or even a scream. It was more of a disappointing but authoritative tone. But, honey, it was loud. You forget these things when you have ear phones on , and others do not.

It is at this time I realize there are children near by. And, there are parents near-er by. Adults give me the stink eye. I could be injured. No pain, only injury is my pride. It is inappropriate to say four letter word so loudly at YMCA (the C stands for Can't cuss). Of course, it's not so easy to get up and run away from my scene, because my left leg is still positioned safely in the foot harness.

my life, chapter one

2011-02-27T16:03:00.000-08:00

the first half of my life, chapter one
in 450 words or less....

I always thought of myself as a shy child. However, in the 5th grade Bunny Osteen was my English teacher and I was completely in love with her. She had big 1980’s hair and wore silk blazers with big should pads and lots of gold bangle jewelry. She was what I thought money looked like, and she drove a Mercedes 450 SL convertible with red leather. Yes, to me she was high society in Nashville. One day we read a play in class and she asked me to read the lead. Oddly, I can’t remember the play but she told me I was good and that was enough for me… I was an actor destined for greatness.

By the 7th grade I was drunk with power. Mrs. Osteen asked me to write for the school newspaper, all 2 pages of it. I did a piece on whatever I was assigned but I also got my own column titled “Horor-scopes.” I advised Leo students to stay in bed or risk being chased down by an angry gym instructor only to meet your maker by a runaway piano. I am famous.

The 8th grade took me down lower than Robert Downey, Jr or La’ Lohan. We moved and I left the somewhat inner-city school (well inner city to Nashville) and we high tailed it out to set up house in the country. I was not popular. I was fat. Then I had the single worst medical woe you can imagine as a preteen: hemorrhoids. I became the boy on the doughnut. Of course eating my feelings became my new past time, which only made the hemorrhoids worse. It was me, my doughnut pillow and Snicker’s bars for a long year.

High School was a welcome relief. I tested in the Academic Magnet school. This is the smart school for nerds if you aren’t familiar with the terms. Of course, testing from that back-ass-wards country school was no major accomplishment. At the nerd school no one was cool and I was thriving. I ran for office with candy. I dressed as a middle-aged woman for pep rally and wore pasties on the outside of my oxford shirts. I learn the most valuable lesson: it’s far better to be laughed at… if it’s your laugh.

College came entirely too fast at the height of my reign in nerd Ville. I was working and I knew the job had promise. And I was in love. Then I was rejected. So, I fell in love with money because if you drove the right car everyone was interested.

I hated college and made it routine to rotate the sign-in sheet with a friend. She and I were both working in ad sales and thought this degree thing nothing more than a formality. Ah the salad days… or as it shall be called - chapter 1.

--stay tuned for chapter2---

How to Meet a RICH Man

2011-02-05T09:23:00.000-08:00

Honey chilrun, I keep getting asked this same querstion all the damn time. All my little nieces, gram-babies, cousins, all want to ask me- motherbarry, how do you meet yourself a rich man? It's simple, honey!

Ok, so I am talking to this sweet little girl last night and she says she is trying to find herself a sugar daddy. Do you know what she is doing? She is going to trendy bars and clubs. Let me tell you something honey- them there places are for players and playboys. You don't want to be played. If you go to the trendy places you will find men who pretend to be rich, homo-sexuals and sluts. That's all you get. Get out the bar!

Here is what you do- get yourself a copy of Road & Track Car Buyers Guide. Then, bring your ass down to the local expensive car dealership. Do not screw this part up- it is tricky! Try to find a Porsche dealer. Don't go BMW or Lexus- they have too many cheap cars. Try a Porsche place. You will be amazed. Go and park your Toyota Corolla far away and walk up into the service department and hunker down. Bring a book, bring your homework, freaking knit- be prepared to wait it out. Men hunt for deer this way- you are looking for your prey.

Now, here is the thing- a nice Porsche dealer has a nice customer lounge complete with leather couches, flat screens, complimentary snacks and a latte machine! Make yourself at home and wait for the rich men to come in to get their over-priced boy toys fixed. And, for God's sake- look good but don't look like you fell out of a nightclub.

Now, for the trapping... when you see a nice man come in make eye contact. Ask him what time it is- this way you can see his watch. Also, very important. Hopefully, you can strike up conversation about how you're waiting on your Porsche to be repaired. Now, most importantly- have that Road & Track near by so you can reference the Porsche models. Ask your new man which Porsche he drives. If he says Boxster- say politely it's nice to meet him and move along. You need a man with a more expensive model, be prepared to wait this out a few days if necessary. If a dealership employee questions you- tell them you are waiting to pick up your boss when he/she drops off her Porsche and act very bothered. If necessary tell them you have cramps- nothing sends someone away faster than the threat of a woman with cramps.

Ok, so let's say you find a man and he has the right model... let's say he says TURBO. Then you know it's "go time"! So, casually ask him what part of town he lives in as you complain about the wait time. Suggest to him that you could split a cab? Then - bam- you're on your way out the door. You always let him be dropped off first and you just happen to remember that your wallet is in your fictional Porsche at the dealer. If he is any kind of gentleman he will give you some cash to cover the ride. Then you tell him you simply must repay him and make plans for drinks! See- you've met a rich man.

Bonus: you get to see where he lives. If there's a minivan in the driveway do NOT call him. Repeat DO NOT call him.

Well, I am exhausted from all this tutoring. If you like this let me know, I can take you to the next chapter: old sugar daddies vs middle-aged ones who is better?

love is like a bad analogy

2011-01-22T07:16:00.001-08:00

Oh children, it's that time of year when everywhere you look is love- especially if you look at the grocery and the Walgreens. It's a sea of discount chocolate in paper heart boxes, and those damn "be mine" valentines that have taunted me for years. Love is like those damn candies, you think it's cute and sweet but then it sours, it doesn't last long and you think, God I want to spit this out but I hope nobody is looking.

Infatuation is an ill-fitting sweater (usually cheaply purchased at H&M) that you think you simply must have but is best discarded after wearing it out a time or two, because after the wash the next day you realize it doesn't really fit you ( I know what you're thinking...i'm not maya angelou but i should be)

Potty Humor: I blame Oprah

2011-01-20T06:38:00.000-08:00

Do you ever look at your poop? I blame Miss Oprah- I'm always looking for that damn S shape that Dr Oz says we need.
Have you ever thought... what the hell is that? when did i have sesame seeds? Oh my God, that sesame seed was left in my colon from 1973. Let's be honest, poop is part of the human experience. It's right up there with love and food for me. I don't take pleasure in it but I can certainly take pain. Nothing worse than being at the mall and having to poop. Nothing worse than being in public and having to go after I ate Taco Hell. I'm just saying, we've all been there. You could hear my screams coming from the airport bathroom and that's the horror from the cleanliness of the facilities.

And the worst thing is constipation... it is like walking around with a basketball, no... a basketball made of led in your stomach
and no matter how hard you push, sometimes I imagine it's like labor, or how many laxatives, which then I imagine what it's like to be a supermodel nothing happens... then finally it's like a miracle and you feel lighter and your clothes fit better and you think- damn how much did that thing weigh?

Well, I know this is gross and crass but I had to get it off my chest.

Today's post is brought to you by the letter "S" and the number 2

(the) hangover club

2011-01-16T09:26:00.000-08:00

Oh chuldrun, I am hurting behind this in a bad way. Have you ever woke up on the Sundee morning and you still drunk? That's a bad, sad and turrible place to be. I'm halfway in a party and halfway want to grab the turlet and hold on fur dear life and stuff. Now, don't go getting all preachy on me. I know it is damn Sundee and the lord Jesus is looking down on me with shame. But, fret now Christian brothers and sisters I got the Joel O on the tv. Missing service is like a snow day for me... if snow came out of a Jim Beam bottle.

I had a wonderful, exhilirating (look I've tried to spell this word 5x and it still is in red typo squiggles, my bad ok) exhilirating, facsinating evening. I felt like Katy Perry in that damn firework song. My heart was beating like the lyrics of a Taylor Swift song. Alas, childrun I woke up alone and all I can think is I need me some damn friend chicken. But, don't you worry about me honey I am not having a problem. I am determined to make this headache a happiness headache. The headache pain is directly in correlation to the amount of fun had the night before.

Let me give you a glimpse into last night:

- said by one of your mama's friends: " there was this child in the restroom. And he's just standing around I am like what does he want? He's too young to be a attendant. I'm done doing my thing at the urinal and this child says 'that's awesome'... well I'm feeling pretty good about myself, a little creeped out but a compliment none the less- but unsure how to respond to this situation of bathroom admiration. Then I realize that there is a tv built into the mirror in the bathroom and that must surely be what he considers awesome."

You can tell it was a night. But your mama is no alcoholic. The difference in a drunk and an alcoholic is if everyone has a good time or if anyone ends up crying.

Completely off topic I need to share some things I have learned (no worries this is prior to the anyone consuming Jesus Juice)
Rules of the road updated:

- The turnabout is basically a free for all. Yield signs are a mere suggestion. People drive through the turn about as fast and furious as they can like they are fleeing a burning barn for their life or like I imagine a cab driver in Kuwait
- You can park your car just about anywhere if you leave your hazzard lights on. No need to pay these ridiculous parking lot attendants, pull up in front of the restaurant and leave your blinkers on. If you plan to stay a long time pop your hood and pull to the side street with your blinkers on. No one will dare get involved
- Most important rule of all- the golden rule of driving is ... if you hit it and IT could possibly die it has the right of way. I may or may not have yelled that at some lady in a Hyndai (now I know she has bigger problems driving a car no one can rightfully pronounce but heiffer needs to not run up on folks trying to get across the street).
- Last rule- when in doubt use your horn. I am a horn blower, the worst kind of driver but I have been known to use my vehicle as a weapon and the horn says " i mean business" well it does to me, most people see it as an invitation to give me the damn bird.

ok i must go and get me some fried chicken chuldrun. I will see you later and remember be good because Jesus is watching and he keeps score. Actually, Santa clause is watching too, maybe they just trade off shifts?

the day I almost died

2011-01-13T20:16:00.000-08:00

You know how you get reruns of Oprah sometimes, well today's blog is a rerun, an oldie but a goodie

THE DAY I ALMOST DIED

So, yes I had a near death experience on Halloween of all days. Picture it: I was at the Palm having a business lunch. I was witha client that I adore and have a little crush on. She is very excitable and talkative- so it took her a few mintues to realize I was actually choking to death.

Let me back up and tell you that this was after I had to get on the floor and crawl around under the table looking for my blackberry (which I had dropped). I am all about making a good impression- the picture of professionalism. "Excuse me, I will be right back." And, poof under the table I go as if immigration had raided the joint.

So, back to my elusive death scene. We were talking, I remember laughing a little. I was having a tenderloin (petite for those of you that are interested and it was good, damn good). Suddenly, I thought I had taken a bite too large or something. I took a hard swi on my diet coke. But... nothing. Have you ever felt like you have some food just stuck and you can usually force it down with a drink or a hard swallow?

Well, this goes on for a few minutes. My lunch partner unaware I am dying inside. She asks me a question and I can't respond. I can't speak and I am starting to realize I am choking. The end is near and all I can think is- I DONT WANNA GO DOWN LIKE MAMA CAS!

This is not how I want to die- at a restaurant. I mean, sure it's a nice place but how embarrassing. Even the best of my friends will snicker at the funeral. My client says, "Oh God, you are blue. You are choking." I am really annoyed because I am trying to be Mr. Suave and I run to the bathroom. I literally shove an old white lady out of the way who is standing blocking the doorway. She was so concerned someone would get the last business lunch filet special. She scowled and called me rude as I ran past her to the bathroom.

I remembered how my cats cough up fur balls. These damn cats saved my life- and finally I dislodged the steak and proceeded to barf like a fool. Then I get light headed. I don't want to die like Elvis in the bathroom, people will say.. oh yeah she died on the toilet. Can you imagine the giggles at my funeral service?

It is amazing the things you think about before death in a public place. I wasn't thinking about my family, or walking toward a light. I was thinking- NO, DAMN IT, NO. I haven't done all the things I want to do. I haven't been accused of an indecent act in public, had a taudry affair with a teenager, been sued for sexual harrassment, won the lottery, sang on American Idol, or dated Paula Abdul. I haven't done a shot with Courtney Love, been sky diving, passed out with George Micheal or had a fight with anyone from Dancing with the Stars. I never met Monica Lewinsky or Oprah or Gayle King or any of my idols. I want to live damn it.

So, I pulled the cat thing off and managed to barf-huff out the poisonous beef. Then (the worst part) I walked back to my table ashamed and people looked at me like I was fool. I am sure most of them thought I was a rude bastard or had explosive diarhea, both could be true but not today. So, I 've made it through halloween so far. It's time for tricks and treats. I am off to consume my weight in Almond Joys. God bless, shalome and may the force be with you and your loved ones this holiday season.

a little inspiration

2011-01-12T16:48:00.000-08:00

So, here we are the 12th of January and I am struggling with my best intentions for keeping resolutions. I've been going to the gym but I have not been blogging... so tonight I had a little pick of inspiration. I talked to an old friend who inspired me. She is like a whit Oprah, but do you know that bitch lost 40 something lbs? I don't like people who lose weight because it makes me feel fat. No, I kid, I am happy for her (and I am about to get happy with some chocolate chips). But I want to share this with you:

"enjoy what you do but remember that it must bring you job because if you aren't your best self, you aren't going to give your best to others or your self..."

If you have a glass of wine or two this makes a lot more sense, okay? By the way I don't trust people who don't like wine or don't drink wine. And another friend of mine says she doesn't trust people who say they have "left over wine." I say those are some mofos who can't finish a task. And I am not a quitter, a slacker maybe, a quitter? nope

SO, I leave you with that kiddies, find your damn joy. Do you love your life? Do you love what you do? Do you get joy from others? Do you give joy from others? ... doesn't this sound like a recruitment ad for prostitution? Yes, really lay down on the job- get maximum job satisfaction... I digress. I gots to go this chardonnay is not gon' drank itself and nothing worse than warm wine.

love and stuff

this may make me unpopular

2010-12-07T17:51:00.000-08:00

BUT, I must get this off my chest. I am so sick of hearing things that drive me crazy, things that are not factual but based in green eco-friendly myth... so this is just one side of a multi-faceted problem we have today. And, please, let me know what you think.

Ever wonder where the economy went? Try looking in your recycle bin

A friend on facebook recently told everyone to take their name off as many catalog mail lists as they can- to save the trees...

Myth- by not printing a catalog you save a tree... false. This is down right stupid and it drives me nuts. Listen, I am pro-environment, I am but this is just bullshit. Actually, there are logging laws. You cannot import trees/pulp into the US without documentation and paper trails. In fact, there are now multiple organizations that do just that- research the hell out of where the trees come from. Mills own huge forests that they log and turn into pulp. They then re-grow these forests. So, actually there is no tree saved. People in America aren't out tearing out rain forests so you can get your Pottery Barn catalog. And, recycled paper sometimes isn't as healthy for the environment (think chemicals) as it is to grow a tree and cut it down and replace it with another tree. I know, we want to be sentimental about the trees but here is what we are NOT sentimental about- the jobs. Do you know how many people are, or should I say were, employed in the paper, print, and distribution industries? Thousands have lost jobs in the last year... that is right ONE year. Think about your local mailman who is about to lose his job or have his pension cut. Think about all the mills that have gone out of business, printers laying off workers and it trickles down to catalog companies hiring less people to answer calls, and less designers needed to lay out pages, and trucking companies not hauling loads which goes to people not having jobs at local malls. These people who you say are not necessary are incredibly valuable to us, they are part of our economy PEOPLE. These are the people buying houses, cars, groceries, eating at restaurants, shopping, IN YOUR TOWN. But, we DO have nice shiny smart phones and apple products... made OVERSEAS. It's not about a carbon footprint. Do you know most printing companies capture their exhaust and use them to supplement heat their plants? So, it is not like there are these huge puffs of smoke going out into the atmosphere... it's just not so.

Itunes.. ever talk to a song writer about how he/she gets paid? Ask them how fast they get a check from itunes. Ask them if they think the check is accurate? Oh, yeah, let's not forget that we have done away with all the record stores, no body wants them right. What about the people who sold them or the companies that made them, made the packaging, etc. Sure, an ipod is convenient and it is conveniently made in... google it it rhymes with SHINE-Ah. I am not hating on the Chinese but we have to realize every decision we make effects our own pockets or gives to someone else's. Why is it we are in such a hurry to ship jobs out when we desperately need them at home?

And then there were books... don't even get me started. I appreciate an e-reader, I really do. But I love the smell of a book. So there are no more book stores, well there are the mega brand stores that mostly sell more $5 coffees than books now, and certainly no locally owned book stores. Again, no one printing the books, shipping the books, etc. I feel so green- I saved a tree, we didn't use the gas to ship it! Nope, we gave that away again to another country and laid off thousands of workers. Think there is no carbon footprint in shipping from China to US? Think there aren't serious labor issues in China? THINK AGAIN- and keep supporting that but you save a damn tree, make that a theoretical tree. WE have to protect OUR planet but WE have to be smart. I am so sick of people jumping on band wagons and not thinking about any consequence.

Yes, technology is a good thing. No, it is not the devil, but let's think about it. We are a nation that makes NOTHING. I think this is our problem. Our economy flew out the window... no ma'am it did not. We gave it away. We couldn't wait to sell it off. So now what do you do? Make an app for a $1? Like for instance, does ANYBODY write a letter anymore? Is the art of the love letter now an email or a sext? And, I really freaking hate text messages. We don't talk anymore, we prefer to text.

It just really bothers me that so many people are unemployed and we make nothing as a country. Unlike paper, you cannot recycle our economy. I am all about being green but I think we need to think about if we ARE actually being green or if we are being e-friendly. The two are confused. Someone tell me how you recycle an ipod? An old laptop? Sure you can but there are environmental risk factors there, too. And how many old devices do you have? We need to figure out how to do that better than add plastic and LED screens to dump piles- because that stuff is more toxic than OLD PAPER ever was!!

To conclude, because you are sick of my rant and hopefully getting the point... I think the only way we are going to get the economy fixed is to make something (a product) and employ people. So, please put down your iphone and think about that for a minute. That's all I ask...

christians and turkeys

2010-11-22T16:36:00.000-08:00

why are all the good Christian's trying to rush this here holiday season? I mean, half of my neighbors in the trailer park already have had a wreath up for 2 weeks on they doors. I mean, dern, people it ain't even Turkey day yet. I love Jesus and I hope to the sweet lawd he love me back honey because I have done something I ain't so proud of... but lights, bows, ribbons already? Not til after Turkey time! I mean we don't throw out a jack-o-latern immediately after we put up our big ass flags do we? I have a designated week for my pilgrim salt ad pepper shakers to earn their keep and how ridiculous does it look for me to put up my inflatable corn-o-cupia on the front yard when Claire has damn wreaths with bows and lights in trees. It looks like Opryland over there and I am just pulling out my shoes with the buckles on them and my festive turkey sweater.

And speaking of the turkey- please do not get me wrong- I have never been one to pass up a dessert table. This is the best damn holiday. No gift stress, no forgiveness, no telling somebody you may or may not love them as much as you did once before. This is all about eatin' and eatin' good. I love a holiday where you know it's time to stop because you feel sick or you might actually blow out your spanx. Eat til you cant' take another casserole bight honey child.

More importantly... a little secret to help you with the guilt and the glutony... I have never been scared of a lipo doctor- they do really have the magic wand. So, I say honey child, you best get you some seconds just make sure you got a part time job or some something-something left over in that Christmas Cash account you got secret stowed down at the credit union. Because if you pass up a second plate... the terrorists have won.

regrets: I've had a few

2010-11-06T10:44:00.000-07:00

Oh kiddies,
Mama is so sorry. I feel, once again, like I left you locked in the car with the windows cracked at Wal-marts while I was buying my econo-mega pack of Marlboros. Truth is, I've been busier than a one legged man in a butt kickin contest. I've been working hard for the money like Donna Summer. But that is no excuse. Things, they are a changing in mommas life- whether she likes it or not. I will keep you informed but for now know this:

I never meant to leave you.
I never felt the need for travel, but travel had the need for me.
The loney road is a body guard if you really want it to be.

In the meantime find some happiness wherever you are. Maybe it's the smell of fall or the color of the leafs. For me, it's the bottom of this damn bag of halloween candy I hid from them ingrates neighbor kids. Will be in touch, and if you need me, you know where to find me.

the here and the now

2010-09-08T19:32:00.000-07:00

you know, when you are younger you spend a lot of time dreaming. What will I be when I grow up? Where will I go to school? Where will I live? I am so guilty of that- way too many hours thinking about things that really don't matter.
- What did that comment, really, mean?
- Did she say that to me or for me?
- Am I going to get laid off?
- Will he call?

It is time to stop wondering and dreaming and start doing. I am making a pact to shut up and put up. The only things I am going to start asking my self are:
- Will this stain come out?
- Is this going to leave a permanent mark?
- Are there any cameras?
- Will this clear my checking account?

That is it. It is time to start living and stop dreaming. I hope that this inspires you the way I feel inspired. Of course, I am writing you on pain medication because I broke my damn foot. So, I am not going to start to tango after this post, but in my head I might be tango-ing right now.

well, good morn-ting to you

2010-08-25T08:27:00.000-07:00

So, Mama has been on the road. I swear my life has turned into that movie UP IN THE AIR with George Clooney, minus the sexiness. No, sadly, I have no affairs in my road trippin.

But I thought I would die this very morning. I decided I should go downstairs to the lobby and work out. Only all the machines were taken at 630am by the really fit people. I am not so fit, just guilted by the pasta and decadent chocolate cake i ate last night. So, I give up and did some stretches. I discovered, am also not limber and feared I had split my pants.

So, I gave up and went to the pantry to check out the breakfast selections. I settled on a diet coke and a pack of Big Red for breakfast. When I got back upstairs to room 1501- I put my key in the door.... nothing. Well, damn it I have to go all the way back downstairs? No ma'am. Try it again, and again and cuss a little. That always helps.

Suddenly, a rather irritated lady opens the door wearing a teeshirt that is down past her thighs. "Can I help you?" she looks at me with a stern look as though she might just beat the shit out of me right there in the hotel lobby. I realize I only have diet coke bottle to protect myself and say, " oh, well good morning. I guess this is your wake up call. Sorry, 3 hotel rooms in 3 days, I must be lost. Have a blessed day.." and the door slams.

Yes, I said have a blessed day? WTF? I don't bless people. Am not pope. Am non pope-ish. Am not Catholic. Turns out I am in room 220. Room 1501 was the night before. whoops

my apologies

2010-08-18T20:15:00.000-07:00

now listen, your mother regrets... and I rarely say I am sorry first... I have neglected you kids. I have done treated you bad, I didn't pay you enough attention. It's the emotional equivalent of locking you in the parking lot at Wal-mart with the windows cracked on a hot August day. I, sincerely regret it. You see, and this is no excuse, Mama has been working like an immigrant in a nail salon, like a child in a sweat shop, like Melanie Griffin in that movie WORKING GIRL. I have been to more than 10 cities this month. I've been turning tricks like Tiger woods.

But, I will tell you what I have brought back a few pearls from all my travels...
1) People are at their absolute worst in the airports
2) It's a moral sin and character flaw to cut line while exiting a plane. Wait your damn turn, I am stuck in the damn toy poodle size seat
3) Never, ever, recline your seat in coach unless that damn flight is longer than 2 hours it's just rude
4) Rental cars are probably less clean than public toilets
5) Approach a self flushing toilet with caution
6) Flight attendants don't like to be called air mattress even in a joking manner
7) Chain restaurants are comforting, like the way they give you gas and indigestion all night but are familiar
8) Chinese buffet is never a good idea in a strip mall near the airport
9) Tip the house keeper or she might use your toothbrush in the toilet bowl
10) Does it break your jaw to say please and thank you to people?

And now a bonus: Why do so many people build houses that look like olive gardens?

sweatin' to the old me

2010-07-14T16:27:00.000-07:00

So, it is true, I do be up in the gym working on my fitness as the great philosopher Fergie, Ferg says. Of course, she peed her pants on stage, so I feel especially kindred to her. Having been mistaken for a drag queen before, it's important I work on my girlish figure. Hey, it was the 70s, everyone wore too much eye makeup and I may have been fond of my shoulder pads which made me look even more the linebacker. All the same, i'm tryin damn it.

So, I don't get why the hell they put so damn many mirrors in the YWCA. I know you need to watch yourself curl. But I do not, repeat NOT, need to watch myself run. It's a horrible testament to gravity to watch my face as I run. I have jowls like HOOCH. and, we have previously established I may be inclined to sing while I run. I may even do a semi- dance and work in an assslap when listening to a certain Ke$ha track. Thank you for getting me through the third mile, you skanky tween.

So, I realize my willpower is low and my strength is all but gone. I think I maybe need new shoes? Am on the treadmill cresting mile 3 when I think, yes I need roller skates. That would make this enjoyable, I could dart home like a Prius with a stuck gas pedal.
Then I nearly tripped on my own boob and had to concentrate again.

My only goal in life is not to be jealous of those people- the folks whose ass moves the same direction their legs do when they walk. Is that so inconquerable?

Best of luck kiddies, talk soon

botox

2010-07-08T19:25:00.000-07:00

so I read that they are using botox to help people who have strokes- it helps with paralysis. Well, Motherbarry the bad news is you had a stroke. The good news is, you look younger than ever. I mean, they say no pain no gain right? What if I claim it is preventative medicine? Do you think BlueCross will pay then? What about welfare? Can I put this on my Cobra insurance? Honey, at this rate it's gonna take a tow truck to pull these jowls up. The other day I looked in the mirror and I barked at my own damn self.

wanted

2010-07-08T19:24:00.000-07:00

generou$ chubby chaser for long dinners with good wines (no box). No fatties or mooches. Wait, this isn't my craigslist acct. Damn it

one size fits most

2010-06-27T12:22:00.000-07:00

So, I had to go this wedding chuldren. I didn't have a thing to wear - I mean no- thing. It's a summer wedding. And wouldn't you know it started to pour rain just as they walked down the aisle pronounced man and wife. Well, they tell me it's good luck. Good luck that no body got that Vera Wang dress wet. That'd been one mad lady, this much I know.

So, here I am trying to find something for this wedding. I like to call weddings: tramp'n'ho retirement parties. When you decide to trade in your diaphram for a big rock, time to hang up those disco shoes and start hitting the vino. But back to the case at hand.

Honey, I decided to go shoppin in my closet. Have you ever done this? I found that I had so many things I had forgotten. Sadly, this new store found in my own house was wonderful but, baby, they just didn't have much left in my size. And that bitch who works there was hateful. But, at the end of the day I was happy I saved my chubby ass from spending money on fat clothes. Because let's be honest, bigger clothes are the gateway to elastic pants and lonely nights.

Much love
motherbarry

all about the Daddy's day

2010-06-20T10:01:00.000-07:00

Today, I am remembering my father who awakened us every weekend morning to the sound of a vacuum cleaner hitting my bedroom door. He sure loved those tracks in the pile carpeting.

Go see your daddy, or the man your mama told you was to be your daddy. Take him to a chain restaurant and let him order dessert. Get crazy, buy him a card or a clip-on neck tie.

I will spend my day watching Maury Povich break the news to all the new and unfortunate daddies. Congratulations- it is very most likely yours!

I am reminded of a few of my own complicated conversations about who may-or-may not be responsible for my delicate condition. But, childrun, you gotta remember it was the 1970s there was no way to be sure. Disco techs tend to lead to peeing on a stick and praying to Jesus.

But I digress....Because today is the day that makes all those awkward paternity tests worth it.

DMV- showdown

2010-06-18T17:13:00.000-07:00

Mama done up and sold the Buick. I said to hell with it kiddies, time to get a new ride. Some nice old man bought my sled. He was about 137 by best guess but I really appreciate his generosity. Fortunately, he didn't see that dent from where I hit the ATM or the time I backed over the neighbor kid and his bike. He only saw a good deal and a lime green metallic paint job.

So, me and Father Time go walking into the DMV to get the title for him and get him on his way. Let me back track and tell you that this was the 2nd place we went. The country folks working at the County Clerk's office told me to "go on down there to the state to get that man a title and his driver's tag." Ok, I do what the middle management says to do.

So we stand in line and wait and wait. THen we get a number and wait, and wait. Then they tell me, "Sorry we can't do this. If the car is going over state lines he needs to get a temporary tag there." I scratch my wig and ask, " Can he drive on my tag?" The man whose name tag read BUBA,yes spelt wrong and all... Buba says, "Naw he can't. He needs to get one from Michigan." Ok, so this goes back and forth because Father Time lives in Michigan and bought my Buick here in Tennessee. But, he can't take my tag, and TN won't give him a temp tag- so how the hell is he supposed to get it back the Michigan?

Buba: Ma'am you need to have him get the title and get that tag.
Me: SO he can't drive it until then?
Bub: Nope
Me: How is he supposed to get it back to Michigan
Buba: Ma'am you've asked me this already.
Me: I simply don't understand.
Buba: It ain't my problem

I told the less than helpful folks at the state clerk's office:
"Sir, Mr. Bubba. I understand you think you are helping me.I UNDERSTAND you don't want to help me anymore. I understand you don't want to be professional or courteous. But PLEASE understand that I don't want to be here either. Now I understand you probably have a button where you can push for security to come in 30 seconds, but let me assure you Mr. Bubba, that this will be the longest 30 seconds of your life if you don't start being respectful to me. Now, kindly ring your manager and tell him there is a Customer here who would request his or her assistance. Because you see, it AIN'T my problem isn't an answer."

I left with no drive out tag but I did get a small applause from the folks in line.

amended rules of travel

2010-06-14T12:50:00.000-07:00

1) A gate change is nothing personal. pack yourself, your shit and your screaming kids up and walk to the new gate. Stop complaining like it ruined your trip
2) IT IS RUDE TO RECLINE YOUR SEAT IN COACH
3) Eat your food before you board. Others do not want to smell it. Maybe I am not in the mood for your nachos smell for 3 hours? Maybe I am not feeling italian today. Maybe I don't want to smell your cinna-bun? Who am I kidding. It is a good thing that heiffer wasn't sitting next to me or I'd have snatched that Cinna-bun up for my own self.
4) Babies on a plane: do not hate the babies. They don't know any better. They think their head may actually explode from the pressure. Hate the parents. If you took your 1 year old to the beach you are an unfit mother - "plane and simple." Babies don't need to fly. You can skip Myrtle Beach this year. Instead, tan your tramp stamp at your local trailerpark swimming hole.
4.5) Babies continued, I will play peek-aboo with the kid if I want to. But, do not think it gets you off the hook. You hear that jeans shorts lady?
5) Jean Shorts are not appropriate for plane, or forever.
5.5) People used to dress for a plane. I know the 1950s were my glory years but you are still in public. this isn't a sleepover with you and 120 of your college friends. Wear clothes not your damn pajamas.
6) Leave the arm rest where it is. If you are too fat to sit in the seat, I am sorry. But you don't get to lay on top of me. Drive to your destination, or better yet walk.
7) Over heard bin space is limited: please do not bring a taped up bag full of "Precious MOments" dolls you got at the local shit store. I want to throw my Jessica Simpson Magic Carpet Ride VIP rolling luggage up there. I don't care if your purchase is too big and might get damaged. Fed Ex makes a living off of shipping that crap for people just like you. This is an airplane meant for people and their bags not your early bird christmas shopping in Pigeon Forge.
8) If I am sleeping on the plane, please do not wake me to ask if I want a soda pop. If I want a Pepsi I will be awake. Some bonehead poked me and asked if I wanted a coke. Well, I did want it- I wanted to throw it on him for being such a dumbass.
9) Keep your shoes on. If you take your shoes of on the plane we will all smell your feet. Worse yet, I will see your feet inches from me. I am likely to scream, point or laugh at you. Keep your damn shoes on.
10) i say it again: IT IS RUDE TO RECLINE YOUR SEAT IN COACH. Nothing better than a balding crown 3 inches from my face. I wanted to pull out my SHARPIE and leave him a note: baldy is inconsiderate of other's personal space. Hope you enjoyed your nap

Bonus: Electronic devices are approved for use during flight- BUT I don't really want to hear the Barney Theme song for 2.5 hours. Get some damn headphones or leave it at home.

thank you for flying bitchy air

rough night? rough morning

2010-06-05T08:57:00.000-07:00

you could probably tell I had a rough night last night from earlier post. So, I did my medicinal ritual "drive through" which always follows the medicinal ritual of "margaritas". I am pretty sure the lady working the drive through thinks I am homeless. Now, i am not at my personal best in the drive through line, which is why one depends on a drive through rather than going inside. So, I look a little crazy haired and unshaven in the drive through. It does not mean I am living in my car.

There is nothing like being judged while waiting on your change. Then I drive to the second window to pick up the order and the guy looks at me like he feels sorry for me. I think he and that hateful judgey lady were talking about me over the radio earphone things they wear. Maybe she punched it in the order? That's okay I will take your pity and some extra ketchup.

it happens in 3's

2010-06-04T23:17:00.000-07:00

i am struggling tonight to put my thoughts into words. You see, I feel life is a series of ups and downs. Sometimes you just can't be up. Sometimes it is okay to be sad, or mad or disappointed. They say these things happen in 3's right?

1)Sad: Tonight I cried. I admit it and I didn't expect it. Have you ever heard someone passed and you didn't even know that person, but you cried for her? Tonight I was sad... because you have to respect those that came before you. Someone passed away today who wasn't even a personal friend, but a friend indeed. Tonight a hero has passed- and I pray for her soul to be safe and true. It saddens me when anyone dies but my heart breaks a little tonight in respect.

2) Mad: I lost something. It might be trivial but sometimes the one that got away is gone for sure. I learned that tonight. I had held out hope and kept a torch burning but it only burned down my house. So, tonight I am mad for the love I lost - and the love I never found.

3) Finally: Tonight I learned a lot about disappointment. Disappointment is a double-edged sword. See, it hurts a lot when someone lets you down but it hurts more when you can't forgive them. I surprised myself writing that one down.

So, tonight I write you with a heavy heart. But, I hope, and I pray for that matter, that you realize it is these tough times, the sad times that make the happy times much brighter. And I hope that you get mad and sad and disappointed. Then I hope you laugh your ass off and drink too many beers and embarrass yourself because that, my darlings, is life.

love, dates and other half-truths

2010-06-02T17:53:00.001-07:00

I was just getting my hair did today by my good friend, we will call sister-man. He was patting down my weave and talking to me about his love life and lack thereof when he asked me if I have blogged lately. At first I thought he was referring to my breath but then I realized he meant these internet writings. So, I wanted to tell you all about some bad dates I have done had. Dating is just a farce to me. I mean, there comes a point in a lady's life when you'd rather stay home with your taco bell and a George Clooney movie, am I right?

You might say, "mama you have done gone and gave up." I would say, " honey child, yes, yes I did. I gave it up and then I said this ain't worth all this work so I give up." Love gave up on me and I gave up on it- much like finding my waist line. I am of the humble opinion love is for the young and delusional. I feel the same way about Indian food, honey I can't stomach that after I turned 30. I have enough complicated relationships in my life- if I wanted to deal with some bull shit I would just call out the nursin home and ask to speak to my momma and 'em. I have much to say about love and how the various stage of love are much like a death- eventually you move on. But for today's lesson, chuldrun, we will talk about bad first dates. Let me run three of my very worst down for you- in order of duration:

1) 0:22 seconds I agreed foolishly to a blind date. I had talked with this fool about going to dinner, I don't know where Applebees or Olive Garden some place classy where I could order a mud slide to calm my nerves. When he changes plan and says, let's meet for a drink after work. Hmm... so I agree to pick him up at his work place because it was snowing and we would drive to a bar. Now, chuldrun, I could have been killed, hacked to death and murdered in my own trunk but I went for it all the same. I was young, fancy free and 42. I pulled up in my big Oldsmobile, he hopped in the car. We got to the end of the parking lot and he say, " hey, take me back. I need to go to work," I was shocked. I looked at him and realized he had a phone in his ear. Oh really? I hadn't heard it ring. He say he need to go back to the office, so I just threw that Oldsmobile in reverse and let him walk up the hill.

Why did this happen? Who knows. Maybe I had my saggy side boob showing, or spinach in my teeth. Maybe he mistook the smell of the Oldsmobile for my own body odor? I will never know and it began to pave the road of not givin' a shit anymore.

2) 22 minutes This time I met a gentleman caller for an adult beverage at a bar. I was nervous so I banged down my first Tom Collins. He goes on to tell me that he is a twin. "A twin? There's two of you?" This one was pretty but dry as a leaf in fall, honey. He was so boring. He said, "I have a twin sister." I replied, " Are ya'll identical?" He said, "no, she is a girl." I continued to imply that they were identical by asking, "so are ya'll identical?" He followed with, "you don't understand, identical isn't possible if one is male and one is female. It's called fraternal." Well, I was having a good belly laugh at good looking's misunderstanding that I was joking. This is part of the reason I am single- because I have a certain gift at being rude and calling it flirting. I am also single because I like my space. (Side note: I keep a suitcase at the foot of my bed incase I have a caller who thinks he is going to spend the night. I always have a fictitious flight early the next morning.) So then pretty boy goes on to tell me he is in law school, like I should be impressed. "It's awfully late for you to be in school. Have they held you back?" Again, he didn't laugh, so I continued, " I mean, I don't like lawyers. Especially that D.A. when he tried to go after me for statutory rape and murder. I mean, really, like I was going to admit that shit." I don't recall what happened after that thanks to my Mr. Tom Collins, but pretty boy lawyer asked for the check and left.

I got my revenge, however because one night I happened to be seated next to him at a bar. When my bill came, I pushed it over to him and said loudly to the bartender, this young lawyer man can buy my drinks. He owes me some.

3) A grande finale 1hour 45 minutes This date was the worst of all. We made it through dinner, and drinks and some dancing. When suddenly I couldn't find my date. Only to find he had left- with someone else, an ex of his. Well, it was a nice hour and a half, I spent 15 minutes trying to locate him through a haze of Purple Hooter Shooters. What can I say? It was the 70's.

Best luck with the humping, I mean dating. If I were you I would invest in a nice vibrator but be careful not to chip your teeth if you get out of control.
hugs

grey gardens?

2010-05-16T07:21:00.000-07:00

It is raining up in my living room. The damn roof leak has created a water feature that is neither zen nor relaxing for mama. The dern Buick won't start. This must be how Grey Garden's got started? I can't get to church which means I have 48 deviled eggs I made for the potluck to confort me. If it don't stop raining I might build me an ark out of the kids old Lincoln Logs. I don't need two of everything on my ark- just two bartenders and a hair dresser. Hello, Sundee mornin'

the problem with facebook

2010-05-14T13:07:00.000-07:00

Here is the thing, childrun. I really try to be "hip." I try to stay "with it," up to speed and stuff. Why? Because I am cool with all that but this internet shit is about to drive me to drank. I mean, first they want me to get on myspace but then that turns to all glittery sparkly pages and it makes me crash my computer. My laptop is an old Atari hardwired with a Commodore Apple and a 12 Volt AutoZOne car battery. The damn thing crashes when my microwave timer goes off, I don't need your glittery pages and songs and mood status.

Then I get on the facebook and the twitter. Here is the thing about twitter. You have to say shit with an "@yourmama" Well I don't give a Fu@k about hearing these short little whines and rants on twitter. I don't care what Ashton Kutcher had for lunch or what Miley Cyrus thinks about foreign politics.

So, I get on face book. But I don't like this either. Aside from feeling like some sort of pedi-file, I just don't like people getting on my face. And now you gotta be a fan of every little damn thing. I get it- if you want to send me a message or you want to catch up with an old classmate or spy on your ex-husband. But I don't need to know what imaginary farm animal you are recruiting or why you need it? That is just weird. I don't want to join your mafia, I am packin in my purse so don't sneak up on me. I don't want to be a fan of any politician or a store. Can you imagine? Let me be a fan of Dollar General, PONTIAC, DOVE SOAP, and asssorted boxed wines.

Now businesses have pages? I want to be a fan of a strip club: the KITTY CAT CLUB in Cleveland? Yes, then I can be a fan of the FREE CLINIC? It's gone too far. See this is what happens. You get a good thing and you go too far and it's ruined. It's just like what happened to jump suits in the 1980s. You have a perfectly useful and acceptable clothing option but people want to make it sporty and put a damn stripe on it- now you have a track suit. Or, you want to make it formal and put puff paint, mirrors and blingy shit on it. We just take things too far and they are worthless, just ruined.

There, you're welcome.

mutha's day

2010-04-30T10:30:00.000-07:00

MOther's day has done snuck up on us chuldren. You may not know this about Mama but I raised myself two lovely daughters. One of em done moved up on outta here and got a fancy career. She married some body who can't stand mama so we don't speak much. The other one is crazy outta her head but Mama loves her most of the damn time.

People ask me, what makes you a successful single mother? Well, these children got fed and got out in the world. They are not currently incarcerated and I am particularly proud of that. I am even more proud when they ain't late on the rent and asking me for money for the damn light bills.

I tell you what chuldren, being a momma ain't no easy job. I look at my sister and she is raising two little babies and I think good Lord I can't do that. These babies are sweet as sugar most of the time but sometime they little children when they have a wii in their hands. I guess most kids are though. I am so thankful mine are grown, because I don't have enough nerve pills left.

What is the hardest part about being a mama? Well I would say letting go. These lil' bastards of mine held on to my uterous like it was a basketball goal. I reckon it's hard for all of us to realize our kids are grown up little people and one day they will leave us. They are little minds and will go out and make a way for themself in the world. Sometimes you don't keep a great relationship with your kids or your mama for that matter. I, myself, always thought I owned them kids but then they got out on they own.

So, I hope for Mother's Day you can mend fences if you got mad, or whatever and bring your mama a gift box set of WHITE DIAMONDS by that lady Elizabeth Taylor. Remember to tape the receipt to the bottom so your mama can return it to Wal-Mart but in the meantime she will act like it's her favorite thing next to the snuggy you gave her for Christmas.

tacky

2010-04-27T20:37:00.000-07:00

So the other night was an event called DINE OUT FOR LIFE which is an excuse to go someplace nice for dinner with a portion of the proceeds going to a good cause, Nashville Cares, a wonderful organization that helps persons with AIDS and educating the community. However, because I am a snarky old bitch, I couldn't help but think of slogans they could have used to promote it:

Eating out AIDS, Giving AIDS Hell

EATING for AIDS: please hold your pickle

Maybe a sticker: My pants got tight for AIDS?

"Oh damn this AIDS food is good?"

Yes, I am tacky and I would never make fun of any person but it's fun to make fun of words isn't it? And of course, the halibut was asking for it.

Did I go too far?

music

2010-04-18T17:56:00.000-07:00

Mama loves all kinds of music. I admit I love pop and even country. But I cannot understand some of the lyrics. I'm okay with the less than perfect grammar, otherwise I wouldn't be able to get my groove on to the likes of Ke$ha and Rihanna. Side note maybe I should change my name to MotherB@rry? Mix it up with some symbolism like Ke$ha?

What I cannot stand is when country music talks about food. I hate that song chicken fried. I know, some of you like it. God knows i love me some fried chicken, too but not in a song. Country music should be about love, breaking up and drinking, not fried food.

your mother regrets

2010-04-17T06:57:00.000-07:00

Oh Chuldrun,
I am full of regrets today. I feel I have neglected you letting so much time go on by. I am the worst mother, it's like I left you in the car with the windows up in the heat of the summer while I was in a bar, or worse yet Wal-mart. Please forgive me and know that you- yes YOU- are my favorite child. Don't tell the others they'll just get mad.

So, today, I feel I can best express my feelings and catch you up-to-date with a mismash of er'ythang that's been goin' on. Here goes: (and please try to keep up)

You can't make this shit up:
So Mama decided it was time to be responsible. I felt that I should save the earth and hug a tree (ironically I have pictures of that from college but I was drunk at the time). So, I set out on a mission to buy a Prius. Well, honeys, wouldn't you know I had a nice senior citizen sales lady person named Brenda. She was a hoot and a hot mess, albeit she needs to do better with the sun protection. Miss Brenda, who holds a special place in my heart, is starting to look a little like a basketball from too much time on the lake. I digress... me and leatherlady Brenda took the new 2010 Prius out for drive. Now, understand Mama is a Lexus-drivin' Toyota supporter and I thought it was my time to get green. Until... the damn car stalled out on us. Babies, I was pushing the pedal and then mashin on the gas and Miss Brenda was yelling at me to go faster because we were on the freeway and I tell you- hand to god and on my grandmother's jewelry that thing turned off. We coasted off the freeway and into a parking lot safely. Then Miss Brenda got all flustered and her manager came and picked us up (in a pickup truck no less). What bugged me the most was that they didn't say sorry. They were mad at the car. I was like, hey, I'm not just here for the ride riiight? Anyways, needless to say I won't be getting a Prius and I worry these fine folks at Toyota are having big problems. I think I will do my part by planting trees at the condo complexes downtown.

Why, God, Why?
Mama has been cooking at home a lot. I'm not a great cook but I do know how to throw some green beans in a pan and steam them. So, as a result of my lack of eating dinner in a bag and ordering by numbers, I went to the Doc and found out I had lost 6 lbs.... well not to worry childrun I found them! I had left them at the bottom of a bag of chick-filet.

Never trust a man named Will
The word will means: determined or sure to... well my will in mention was determined to give me a headache this very morning...
So my favorite bartender friend, Will, says to me last night: You've had tequilla, and whiskey. You should have a vodka drink then you can't blame it on any of them. Just have em all. What the hell kind of fool says something like that to an old lady? Even worse is the old lady that believes him. I woke up this morning feelin' like I'd been drinking from the toilet bowl, again. It's a terrible feeling that can only best be remedied by an egg mcmuffin. Now, you say an egg mcmuffin is healthy right? It's one of the best choices at the golden Arches home of all things triglyceride but it's my Jewish grandmother's voice that rings in my ears that I need to take advantage of the deal here. It's a greater value to get the meal- I mean the price of the meal is only a $1 more and you get a tall diet coke, and they are sneaky about throwing that little piece of heaven hashbrown in there, too. The truth is childrun, nothing at McDonalds is healthy and it's best to drive on by it. But, if you see Mamas big white lexus in there you better get outta her way because she is in need of some mcMedicine.

Word games?
Last night I was on somebody's fancy computer phone and found myself playing a game of online scrabble. Yes, children word games. Do you know what is fun about spelling games? Nope, me neither. But I was playing this game and letting it have it. I am worried the next game we will play will be something like : Square Root Fun, or Find the HiddenTax Law? And it occurred to me, that we were all playing this game on a phone sending it to somebody else's phone and nobody was talking. But we were in a ten foot perimeter of each other. Does this bug the hell out of you? I remember when we used to play board games. Now, we have 700 friends on facebook but we are home alone at night with our computers. It just puzzles the hell out of me- all the isolated connectivity in the world.

So, yes, childrun I know that this is not nearly enough information for you and my apology is stale at best but I will make it up to you. In the meantime, I need to take a midol and lay down flat. I can't sleep past 630am anymore even on the weekends and I need to rest my eyes for a minute.

happy easter

2010-04-04T08:04:00.001-07:00

you know something children, today is one of those potato salad holidays. Do you know what I mean? We all put on new flowery dress from the Lane Bryant, and our brand new white sandals that we got from Pay-Less but tell cousin Vynell (that is pronounced Vie-nell not vinyl) that we bought them at Nordstroms when we were (never) in New York because she beliefs such foolery and it makes our hearts warm to think she thinks we are cultured. Vynell is a delicate soul, very judge-mental and pretty much just mental. She thinks Macys really cares about her business which is why they allow her to return outfits she had already worn. She also thinks her late husband invented cruise control but alas was robbed by Detroit. That's another story for another blog, let's get back to our lesson about the Egg Day.

We watch the little children run around and look for eggs and laugh when it's our nephew that slams one of the other kids to the ground in the hunt for the Golden Egg. Maybe one day he'll grow up to be a banker. We pray we don't step in any sink holes or snake dens while walking around the grass helping him cheat to find those eggs, I mean help direct his little soul.

Our whole family gathers to partake in such wonderful cuisines as potato salad, german potato salad, potato casserole, sweet potato salad, lima beans with bacon and my personal favorite, fried chicken and deviled eggs. We pile our paper plates high and wash it all down with sweet tea. Then we do the obligatory raise of the plexiglass dishes to see who brought what? Where I come from everyone brings their homemade dish in a glass tupperware contraption with their name taped to the bottom. That way I can say, I don't know who made this potato salad but it is delicious. What is in that, is that seasoned salt? Then you lift up the dish and say, look here it was Cherlene. She needs to watch all that salt with her high blood pressure. Bless her heart.

Then we wash the dishes and high-tail it out there by 3 o'clock because we've had just about all the screamin' kids we can handle and we're about to push ourself into a diabetic coma with the pecan pie and the chocolate eggs.

But, when we all climb into our Buicks and head for home, I want you to think about what Easter's really all about? It's about new beginnings. It's never too late for you to change. You can do something exciting. You can pop that work out tape in your vcr? You can book that cruise you've been eyeing in the Sunday papers. Maybe you want to try highlights for Spring? Don't get too crazy. Or maybe you'll think, what do I need to change in my life? Do I need to be a better person? Is there a life I haven't been living? Did anybody else get that from the Bible or did you wait for one of those Mel Gibson movies?

Mama's got some changes on the horizon. Life is all about changing. It's got to be or else we'd never get anything done. There are 2 lives for all of us … the life we live and the “unlived” life within us.

I hope you and yours have a wonderful Easter and enjoy the potato salad.

my MaMe

2010-04-02T17:11:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I have these flashbacks, sort of like the soldiers do about 'Nam. Only, I remember things my grandmother told me and it always makes me laugh. More often than not these episodes come up in the strangest places like the shower where I am laughing all to myself and thinking surely if anyone saw me they'd think I was Norman Bates' mother. Or, it'd be sometime more inappropriate like a funeral. So here is today's flashback:
Ma-Me: Honey, You really need to get to a church
Me: I'm good, don't you worry about me
Ma-Me: Naw, honey, it'd be good for you
Me: What am I? A sinner today? Why are you concerned about my worshiping habits all the sudden?
Ma-Me:Everybody needs a little God now and then. You know you were never baptized
Me: That's because I was raised 1/2 Jewish and 1/2 Church of Christ. How does one pull that off?
Ma-Me:God don't care where you go, as long as you show up
Me: Well if it's just role call you're worried about, I am sure one of my friends can sign me in.
Ma-Me:You're such a turd. I'm trying to help you. Speakin' of, what are you doing with your hair? You look kinda crazy.
Me: Or you could say you don't like it
Ma-Me: It's frosted
Me: These are highlights (the year was 1994 don't judge me) everybody's doing this, Ma-Me
Ma-Me: Everybody is not, just the sissies and the sluts
Me: And this is what church got you?
Ma-Me: Don't get me wrong, I had my fun in my day
Me: Seriously, I will go to church. I may need to beg for your forgiveness
Ma-Me:Hey, listen, sluts get things done.
Me: We don't have to talk about this
Ma-Me: People always make fun of sluts, but some people think Marilyn Monroe was a spy.
Me: What are you drinking?
Ma-Me: She had Kennedy in the palm of her hand. Sometimes, literally.
Ma-Me:And you thought she was a slut?
Ma-Me: No I thought she was a lot smarter than me.

does your mom know?

2010-03-17T13:26:00.000-07:00

So I went to McDonald's today because I had a stressful day and I am a sugar addict. So, I fed the craving with soft serve. Yes, I am perfectly content to live my life in drawstring pants. I've given up.

But, while in line I had the distinct pleasure of listening in on the trials and tribulations of a certain plaid skirt wearing, all-girl-school world.
These girls, MaryBeth, MaryFrancis and MaryWhinesALot where in line in front of me, after ordering: a 6 peice mcnugget to split among the 3 of them, 2 diet cokes and one McCafe. I guess MaryFrancis has given up, too.

So Mary#1 says: "you're so lucky I have to drive my mother's hand me down shit volvo wagon."
Mary#2 responds, "I hate my Prius. I want a Range Rover, screw the environment. Al Gore's a fatass anyway."
Mary#3 says, " I got stuck with my Dad's Mini Cooper. Eww. It's so midlife crisis."
** I wanted so badly to say, "Does your Mom know? That your Dad's gay?"

But I kept it inside and decided to share my hatefulness with you, blog world. Amazing what a $25,000/year education delivers.

a lesson about comfortable shoes

2010-03-15T21:15:00.001-07:00

Honeys, mama is having a awful time with this getting older thing. I went out Saturday night with my rowdy friends. We ended up at some club and let's just say things ain't what they used to be. No body asked mama for her number, no body looked my at me. I think I heard one rude child with an X on his hand yell, "Tommy, your mama's here to get you." Then at the end of the night somebody (I may or may not have had a previous romantic entanglement with) shoved a cell phone in my face and asked me my last name and proceeded to lick my face. There was a time in my life when I might have thought that was hot, or romantical even? But I just felt plain dirty. Not dirty in a good way, dirty in the way that I wished I had a wet wipe to clean up and disinfect. I think you don't get to lick someone if you don't know their last name, call me old fashioned.

Yes, I went into that bar feeling like a cougar. But I left like a lamb, or maybe more like an old goat that you need to put down. So, thank god it was daylight savings time. Yes, I was thankful the bar closed an hour early so I could jump in a cab and get home. I used to run for the bar at last call. This time I ran for the door. Nothing worse than that moment when they turn on the lights- people scatter like roaches. The cruel overhead lighting is like finding a million love letters and none of them true. Things just are better in the dark, with some bass, but not too much, my damn ears were ringing through lunchtime.

Sunday morning I woke up and my feet felt as though they had been run over by a truck. You know you are old when your feet hurt. You know you are getting old when you have to start thinking about what shoes you are wearing and if the floors are going to be concrete or carpet. You have to start planning for the terrain. You don't worry about that shit in your 20s. In your 20s you worry if you have enough cab fare to get home after you paid two covers and four rounds of shots named after bombs. You worry if you can find your panties and your house keys when you wake up and realize that is not your ceiling fan you're staring at. That's why I always kept a spare pare of panties in my glovebox and a key hidden in a decorate plastic rock in the garden. Nowadays the only thing in my glovebox is asthma medication and antacid pills.

Yes, I gave that weekend hell. I said, "take that weekend!" I had to do it. I was feeling old and you ain't no good to nobody when you feel old. By Sunday afternoon my age called up and said, "sit the hell down, fool. What is wrong with you?" Thank god for the magical healing powers of taco bell. So, kids, let me leave you with a few cautionary lessons: (1)You are never too old to act the fool (2)Always have cab fare and (3) for God's sake wear comfortable shoes. With any luck you'll have a long walk home

love,
do as I say, not as I do
yur mama

sit and spin

2010-03-12T15:14:00.000-08:00

Momma went and did that bike thing I always see white women hoisted up on- the upright bike. The call it spinning if you're in a class. I don't like group activities, I just rode it today for 6 miles- 20 minutes. I am pretty sure I have fractured my vajayjay. Something is not right down there. I think maybe I was violated by the bike seat. Maybe it is just a bruise? I don't want to go to the Dr and telling him I think I have blown out my badussy area. This is just too delicate to examine.

It could be that I am just that out of shape. Yes, I know, I know, I need padded bike shorts. Well the good Lord gave me lots of padding down there. I just think it fell out and around the area some how leaving me exposed to a delicate situation. I probably cannot have children due to this unfortunate turn of events in gymnation. I fear had I gone for a full hour class (which was momma's goal) that it would have required two large men YMCA employees, a fireman, medic and a licensed badussy technician to remove the bike from my personal space area. This is no good.

I am off to cool in a tub of water and pray for daylight.

god bless your weekends, honey, you deserve it after reading this horror

food for thought

2010-03-08T21:23:00.000-08:00

hello chuldren.

I know you've been neglected and mother is sorry about that. I have to focus myself- I need to take my life in for a realignment. If only it were that easy to get back on track with life like they straighten the tires on my Buick.

Mother is loving the 60 degree weather, and the first glimpse of spring. I drove home tonight with the top down and the wind in my weave (One hand holding it in place the whole ride home). I think it's the warm air and the way it makes the night more friendly. Don't you notice the world in a more friendly light when it is warm out? When it's cold it seems more quiet and when it is warm it just seems like life is more alive? Is this my Chardonnay talkin?

I feel inspired. I feel the need for some change. Now, don't go and worry yourself sick. I'm not going to do anything crazy. I won't go and get bangs, or highlights or anything hair related that I have to wait to grow out. I do have a hankering to travel, or to move for that matter. I think it needs to be a big change. What should I do?

I tell you what I am not doing... dieting. I do so good for a day or two and then I go to the grocery store hungry and it all falls in my cart. This time I got some sweets and potato chips- after I told myself I would diet. So, here is the confession: it was meant with best intentions. I bought a half a pie. Have you seen those in the deli? They cut the pie in half. So, I wanted some damn pie, and it was Oscar night. I needed to celebrate my inner PRECIOUS and I ate the damn pie. Not the whole thing - but 2 slices in a 24 hour period. that is 2/3 of a half - and I don't want to do anymore math than that because it will make me sick. So, what happened to the last 1/3 you ask? I poured Dawn's dishwashing soap on it and tossed it in the kitchen trash. I was afraid if I did not ruin it with soap I might be tempted to dig through the trash like a homeless person. It's shameful, truly shameful. Imagine if someone walked by my window and saw me digging through the trash looking like Nick Nolte with a piece of fudge pie? Well, they'd have some explaining to do if they were walking through my back yard and looking in my window. Of course, if the pie face didn't scare them my bedroom attire might.

Then I moved onto Kettle Chips. In a 48 hour period I ate almost the whole bag. I didn't douse this one in soap, however because it was meant as part of my lunch this week. Only, it became lunch, brunch, dinner and everytime the phone rang in between. It's just one bag- don't over exaggerate an already sad situation. I know you're picturing me looking just like Kirstie Alley, and I have to tell you off topic: I am a big fan of her's. Anyone with that much nerve deserves some respect - or medication?

So, children, don't judge your mama. It's a hard fact to accept when you realize your idols, your parents are not perfect. I have my crutch, salt and chocolate. But, I am a respectable old broad: I've been going to bed with the same man every night for more than 20 years: Johnny Walker-Black.

So, if you're still following this rant, leave mother a message - some food for thought? What should I change? What have you changed? Can I borrow some change?

And remember honeys: there is a reason the word DIET starts with DIE and GODIVA starts with GOD.

this posting was brought to you by the (:) tonight we are a big fan of a colon and the good people at Kendall Jackson.

The butt of the joke

2010-02-25T18:45:00.001-08:00

So, I am trying to lose this damn winter weight. And, yes, these damn girlscout cookies don't help a bit. I'm an emotional eater- that means food makes me happy. What can I say? We all have our crutch? Look, I'm not looking for sympathy but Susan Boyle gets more action than me- ok. I need the damn cookies.

To counteract the Somoas, I am trying to run again. This shit is for the birds. Literally... I caught my own reflection in the window and it looked like a baby bird trying to run from the nest. I know I am struggling but my arms were all over the place. I need them for balance because I am bottom-heavy. They call it pear shaped. It looks like I have two bowling balls shoved down my Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, ok. I am aware of my greater assets. Sadly, they need to shape up.

Again, my own reflection betrayed me when I exited the shower feeling so fresh and clean to start the day I saw two slabs of unrolled biscuit dough staring back at me. Again, no sympathy please. However, I think I can parlay my fate into fortune. I am going to invent the ass-bra. Think about it? It would improve your form in your pants and help give you support to skip down the treadmill golden brick road.

So let it be said, I have pattened'id the Butt-Bra. Or the Bra-ass-eere? That part might be in development. I can see it now, me on the late night tv with Suzanne Somers. If that bitch made millions on here thigh master my butt bra has got to buy me a beach house in Cabo and a new Corolla. It's a sports bra for your butt- and my calling in life. You will applaud when your thighs stop slapping together... I gots to go and see if I can register the # for 1-800-ass-lift.

Girl Scout Nazi

2010-02-17T19:01:00.000-08:00

You are not going to believe this shit, darlin.

So I answer the door today and this little, tiny, cute thing is staring up at me. She had dark hair and pig tails and glasses. "What kind of girl scout cookies would you like?" Being one to appreciate a good pitch like that, I laughed and said, " Oh sweetheart, I am sorry I bought some already from my neighbor." She didn't like this answer and she belted back, "But I am your neighbor" and readily spilled out her address. Immediately her arms crossed and I got nervous like I was about to be mugged and taken down by a 10-year old. In my defense, she had a lot of badges I had no idea what she was capable of.

"Well, I am sorry. But I have four boxes and I don't need anymore do I?" I pointed to my belly thinking humor might soften the blow, but I did not judge my audience at all. "Who did you buy them from?" Well now the little bitch was putting me on the spot. Did she not believe me? Was she testing me? Who is she to stand on my porch... these thoughts are going through my mind just as quickly as these thoughts- Is this shirt clean? Do I have on shoes? Did I zip up my fly?

"I don't know her name. She lives on the corner. She has a sister. They're blonde..." The girl scout Nazi was giving me a blank stare and no relief. "Her mommy is pretty and she drives a white Mercedes." Then she shoves the order form at me and continues the questioning, " When did she bring them to you?" I was getting nervous. I think I had armpit sweat off this little heifer. "Uhm, well, let me see. I think it was, I think had to be Tuesday? No, maybe Monday. Does it matter?"

"This was supposed to be my house. She isn't even in my troop." I am imagining some girl scout teamster meeting- 'Ok, Sally you get the west quadrant of Green Hills up to Belle Meade. Suzy, you're on the east side of Hillsboro. Jennifer, damn it stay out of the southwest end- don't you cross Estes Road, you got that?"

My day dream was interrupted. "Well, I'm going to talk to her." She grimaced and walked away but as soon as she hit the yard she began to skip. This little girl is going to grow up to run the world I thought- or at least have a successful empire of arts and crafts television shows, books and magazines. She won't stand for anything less.

truths about Valentine's day

2010-02-13T18:26:00.000-08:00

I think there's a lot of truth to Valentine's day. I think there's a lot of commercialization in the and it is in fact, a Hallmark Holiday. So, childrun, I thought I'd share my thoughts with you on the eve of the big Heart-On holiday. Here's what I believe:

i dont know if i believe in love

i believe in cold sores, and coincidentally i believe in herpes as a by-product of passion

i believe you can pay too much for a steak dinner (steak doesn't make me feel particularly romantic or horny as much as it does full and bloated)

i believe that there's no way a dozen roses costs $100 (and roses make me sneeze)

i believe that the greeting card industry makes millions of dollars on couples but the spirits and wine industries make double in the single market

i believe chocolate is the way to my heart- but only if you are a chubby chaser will this work out in the long haul

I believe that we all want to be in love and probably need to be in love for chemical reasons in the brain (some people need this more than others)

I believe love changes as you get older

I really believe that I just need some one to believe in me and as much as I believe in them... I believe that is the definition of love

Sidecar: you might wonder how a little number like mamma got away? well, children, I ran like hell from love, and now nobody is chasing me.

Tell someone you love them. If you really do, good for you. If not, you both deserve a little nookie on valentine's day.

in repair

2010-02-13T09:44:00.000-08:00

so sorry, childrun, that I've been away. I'm like that mother that leaves her kids locked up in the Walmart parking lot with the windows up in July... I was traveling for work. Pushing my goods to the streets. And, I fell ill. I am in repair now, so I will be with you shortly.

inspiration

2010-02-08T20:17:00.001-08:00

Last night I went to a superbowl party. I ate my way through it. Then when I got home and took my clothes off I was marked (again). It was like the equator around my waist. It was the sign of demarkation- carbs vs liquor- hemispheres... there's a reason it's called fat and happy.

Tonight I ran on the treadmill... I got to 3 miles- only because I pretended there was a bucket of fried chicken on the other side of the room.

More rules of travel

2010-02-03T06:39:00.000-08:00

Honey, I have come to the realization that my company hates me. In actuality they are just... how do you say this delicately because I do want to keep my current employment? Cheap ass-es? How bout that one. I flew out to the Tundra also called Minnesota for work. I don't know why anyone in their right mind would want to live anywhere with all this snow and no film festivals.

So I am crammed in the airplane tighter than tuna in a can. Then I get a rental car- of course it's a Hyundai, or a Kia some kind of car that isn't spelled normal- just a bunch of letters that mean cheap in Chinese or Korean. I check into the hotel - with like 4 feet of snow in the parking lot and proceed to ruin my new shoes. Then I get my room and I kid you not there is NO WINDOW. I think how is this not a fire hazzard? The window is like a porthole in a submarine. I could never jump out of it if I needed to. Yes, these are the things I think about right before bed, very relaxing.

I wake up this morning and when I am trying to pat down my weave and put on my face, I find the light in the bathroom is burned out. Now, a normal person would call the hotel but I had no time, I was already late and standing there dripping on the tile-ish floor. So, I hope my wig is on straight.

From now on I wish they'd just UPS my ass from place to place. It would save a lot of time and inconvenience. Of course, they'd probably insist I go ground...

2010-02-01T20:31:00.000-08:00

Childrun,

Momma is so sorry for the neglect. It's not like I left you alone in the parking lot of K-mart with the windows up and the doors locked in July, but it was almost as bad. Momma has been out pushing the cart and making some paper. It's hard being a single working mother. And that doesn't mean I have kids... I'm on the road for the next 3 weeks so I'll be typing to you out of my Samsonite while I unroll my support elastic waisted pants and steam them in the shower.

And I want to mention the grammys. That Pink lady is something else, I tell you. I felt inspired, I ripped the sheets off my bed and threw them over the ceiling fan. However, it wasn't exactly the same experience. Of course, the tequila made it better.

I leave you with this nugget so I can go change the clear baggy for my fluids and gels at TSA - they all talk shit about my Christmas theme ziplock baggy....A friend of Momma's told me this one:

The real reason that I'm drinking Shiraz tonight? I took a quiz on heart health over the weekend, and it turns out that I'm doing almost everything exactly right. There are only two things that my results said could do better: (1) I should lose weight, and (2) I should actually drink MORE red wine.

I decided it would be easier to drink the wine. :-)

be careful where you knock

2010-01-22T17:28:00.000-08:00

So, I had settled in to watch the Vampire Diaries- my favorite teen vamp drama. I like to turn off the lights because it makes me scared and adds ambiance for the romantic-al scenes. I love some vampire loving. Anyway, I had opened my bottle of Cab and was eating my Peiwei (american-chinese). It was just getting scary and then I got a knock at my door just beside my tv. (This is the SIDE door not the front door of my house). Let me tell you I about jumped out of my skin. I was scared it could be a vampire, then I was really excited it COULD be a vampire...

Well damn it, it was some kid wearing an AT&T jacket telling me he was here to sell me AT&T television services. He proceeded to tell me that I could save money, blah blah. Keep in mind my tv is still on and the room is dark as night. I was a little uncomfortable talking to him but glad I had on respectable clothing rather than my robe which had been my first instinct. Ok, so then he says: "what channels do you get?" All of the sudden apparently the vamps decided it was sexy-go-time and I hear some moans coming from my tv. So, I am laughing and said, "well obviously the dirty ones."

on a serious note

2010-01-21T15:28:00.000-08:00

my heart is heavy for the people of Haiti and I am amazed as I watch the continued coverage. I know it's been days and I feel like I shouldn't blog about something trivial. I don't have a lot of followers but I hope that everyone is giving what they can and realizing how lucky we all are. I am inspired and hopeful that you and I can make a difference with every $10 we can spare.

We live in a time of changing political climates and uncertainty. I am reminded that only the basics matter- I made a list of things I think are important. Please feel free to share:

Wouldn't it be nice to live in a country where more money is spent on education that war?

Wouldn't it be nice to live in a country where farmers are valued more than lawyers?

Wouldn't it be nice to live in a country where responsibility is rewarded more than greed?

Wouldn't it be nice to live in a country where health isn't influenced by profit margins?

Wouldn't it be nice to live in a country where health is subsidized more than auto makers?

Wouldn't it be nice to live in a country where rights for minorities don't have to be voted on by majority?

Wouldn't it be nice to live in a country where violence is more taboo than nudity?

Wouldn't it be nice to live in a country where the future is more important than past grievances?

Wouldn't it be nice to live in a country where we strive more to understand each other than to be understood?

Wouldn't it be nice to live in a world where we help each other, unconditionally, not just because we are all equal but because we can?

Don't forget tomorrow night is a telethon. What you give away comes back to you someday- that's what I always like to think.

irony of it all

2010-01-19T17:11:00.001-08:00

Honey, this working out this is damn near killin' me. At the gym today this white lady asked me, "how is your resting heart rate?" I said, "it's the best part of my whole damn day, honey." The gym is over-run with the ladies that wear make-up to work out and clothes that match. When I go to the gym it's like the movie Precious, if Precious were set in the YMCA. So, I did my machine and listened to my workout friend squawk about her addiction to soy latte teas or something of that nevermind. I like Diet Coke and Snickers bars, together or apart. That is my addiction, not a $5 coffee. Then I did some ridiculous rope machine. I was climbing a rope- but not really. I was sitting down and climbing a rope that rotates around this machine. The irony of it all- we run standing in place, we climb rope but we aren't goin' anywhere. Just makes you think what happens with all that mis-placed spent energy? I guess all these muscles are really just for show and not for street use. My body is like the sad, famed Pontiac Fiero- it is supposed to look all sporty and hot but underneath the clothing, it's just a golf cart.

Resolutions: not so much

2010-01-12T15:26:00.001-08:00

So I made it to the gym. A hotel gym no less. Am on small business trip. Promised myself would get 30 minutes in because have not been so disciplined with the nasty cold. Here is the thing: it's so difficult to run when your thighs are slapping together. Yes, I said my inner thighs are giving each other the "high five" and no one told me this would happen. I am scared that while running I could start a forrest fire. So, I did the elyptical which is much like walking when drunk, but your arms are moving in a more controlled motion. I had come to the conclusion that I hate working out when my own tiddy flew up and hit me in the eye and then bounced off my shoulder.

Now, am off to fancy work dinner. This is great in theory, except work dinner followed by work breakfast and full day of work meeting before driving home with co-workers. So, your mama is saying she can't show her ass at fancy Italian restaurant. Enough Pinot Grigio, thank you.

Best part ever: aforementioned cold brought about lovely cold sore. Looks like evil twin is hatching from my own lip to take over my face and foil my plan for world peace. Nothing says I am a skank like: cold sore. I should wear a sash: MISS INDESCRETION : I make bad decisions.

Off to put on my sequined moo-moo and bedazzled orthopedic shoes. It's show time kids.

If only I could remember

2010-01-11T19:59:00.000-08:00

I have my best thoughts at night, late at night. I can't tell you how many funny things I have thought but only if I could remember. Sometimes when I am in the shower I make up songs, and they are damn good, but I don't remember them between the shampoo and the toweling off.

My memory isn't as good as it quite was. I suspect it is because I am torn working at home, traveling, writing and trying to be a blogger and being a general pain in the ass. So I write myself notes to remember things.

Sometimes it is a note to remember a particular point on a contract.

Sometimes it is an item at the grocery store I neglected to get.

Sometimes it is to feed the cat, even though she does need to eat every day.

Sometimes, it is to add correct punctuation.

Sometimes it's an idea. This is the trickiest. I find now that I scribble it down and one of three things happens:

1) cannot read own handwriting (Does this happen to you or am I a slob?)

2) does not reconnect to original thought of brilliance and is lost forever in sea of intelligent no-where-ness

3) Cannot make sense of what the hell I wrote in the first place. What does this even mean? Why did I write down that? Why did I write down juxtapoz? That's my whole life.

So now I must write narrative. I am writing little letters to myself. No, don't get the wrong Idea I don't write love letters to myself. "Dear lovehandles, you're a person, too." " Dear self, you're smart and people respect your opinion" No- I write, this is for this thing and don't forget to do that with it.

One can imagine that this is great loss and waste of time, again typically late at night and it makes perfect sense that when I get up tomorrow I will remember that I had a great idea for a scene in a screen play... alas it's never as good as it was just before I went to bed. And, I can't write the song in the shower because the paper gets wet and I lost the lyrics.

So, you see, I am a one person paper recycling machine. If only my brain could be recycled for something useful I could control the world.

snow day

2010-01-07T19:19:00.001-08:00

today was a snow day. I tried to get out but I slid the big sled about ten feet backwards and decided it was not worth it. Funny how an inch of snow translates to ice which doesn't look like anything but makes it just not worth it. Immediately put on my robe and slippers: this is what giving up feels like

Ever wonder?

2010-01-03T15:24:00.000-08:00

So Mama is old now. I've come to embrace the fact that my age is catching up to me. While I am fighting the battle of the bulge, I realize I will never be a size two again. I do however, have ambition that my ass won't bounce off the back of my knees when I run. What I cannot conquer is my eyesight. I gave up and got glasses, which I'd been fighting. Now, for one thing I swear my non-glasses vision is worse than ever. I think my eyes are as lazy as my ass now. But what I cannot wrap my head around is what the hell happens everyday that gets my glasses so dirty. I mean, were my eyes this dirty before I started wearing the damn things? What are those little specs of dirt? Do I sneeze that much? How come I can never just clean them with my shirt tail and not get that damn smudge? I'd like to say I'd get lasik but I'd see that money going into a lipo jar before the lasik jar. That's really all Mama has to say today. I've enjoyed plenty of holiday cheer and I am wore out behind the second weekend cheers and holiday spirits. I'm off to hit up a hot toddy and put on my night robe.

End of the year Opportunity

2009-12-31T18:10:00.000-08:00

The end of the year means a new start to most of us. It's an opportunity to start anew and make resolutions for the new year. A new year brings a new you. But, it's also an opportunity to reflect and be thankful for what you have and what you are.

Are you in good health? Do you have a job? Are you loved? Do you have family and friends you care about? It's time to close the book but remember what happened in this chapter. Here's to an even better 2010.

Mother Barry

PS Starting tomorrow I am going to give up sweets, drink less, eat more green things, plant a garden and run 10 miles a day- I'll stop lying to myself on Saturday when this buzz wears off.

Dollars and $ense

2009-12-30T15:18:00.000-08:00

How come I got a bill for $0.18? It's from a long distance provider I no longer use and apparently I had a service charge that was pro-rated for the year coming out to less than a quarter. Now I know big companies cannot take right offs for every little bill but think about the math for a minute. The postage to send me the bill was more than the bill. The check I will write is going to be more than the bill and the stamp is more than double the bill. So, I might count out 18 pennies and put them in the envelope. Of course, some poor fool would have to process and count my change and I can't do that to anyone in good faith. I wonder if I don't pay if it would go to collections? It could accumulate decades of interest charges and I could lose my good credit rating.

the Gym Chronicles

2009-12-28T14:51:00.000-08:00

Dear Old Cougar Lady at the Gym:

I am most happy for you that you have a flat stomach and some abs. However, I don't want to see your c-section scar. You should cover up. It is not appropriate to wear your sports bra as a top. I have on spanks but they're covered up under this XXL Detroit Tee. Seriously, I know it's in style to be a cougar or a milf but you look like an old hooker.

Day two of working out: Tried to row. Fell off backwards. Yelled something that sounded like this as I crashed against the wall Gyawd Daym. Found a chair that you sit in- thought this might be more my speed of a workout. However, when you sit in this chair you are spred from Monday - Thursday like you went in the gynochronologist ( you go to the gynochronologist just to see how old your vagina really is). Then you push your legs together. This is supposed to work your inner thighs. I felt like a huzzy tramp and no body bought me a steak dinner. I am already sore so my vagina may write me a dear jonn letter tomorrow.

This whole gym thing is a real sub-set of American culture. It's a mating grounds for people who can't go to bars.

Secrets

2009-12-28T11:15:00.000-08:00

We all have secrets. There are things we've all done that we aren't proud of. There are things I do that I don't think is anyone else's business. There are things you do that you wouldn't want me to know. But, have you ever done something you can't imagine confiding in any one?

I have loose lips and I wear my heart on my sleeve. Some folks live a double life and you never know it. Sometimes it comes out and more often than not I tell everything I know. I find it freeing I guess. But there are some things you take to the grave.

I want to write down a secret and mail it in... http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

Day after Christmas (a story about personal space)

2009-12-26T13:51:00.000-08:00

I don't want you children to picture Mama in the wrong light. First, I am generally a calm and collected lady, but after spending too much time with the family I can get a bit testy. Also, I am by no means in good shape but I do go to the gym on a regular basis. I am not one of those Jane Fonda tape lovers or juicy pants wear-ers. The bottom area of my jeans is juicy and I don't need no sign.

So, today I went to get a quick workout in to burn off some of the wine I consumed on the day of the Baby Jesus's birth. This same wine made things more tolerable for our big ass Christmas dinner. So, I went in and I get on this machine which is the same machine I've been using for about five years now> I call it wine-hater. So I am sweating off the last of my buzz and residuals and I am positioned between two other co-sweaters. To my left is a large bottomed middle aged woman we will refer to as Agnes because she looks to me like every Agnes I've ever known. Well agnes is on an elyptical machine and she has some arm weights and is going to town. She is waving her arms about like she's getting saved at the Sunday service, but children it's a Saturday morning. To my right is a mid-30 something gentleman who may or may not be a singer of questionable sexual orientation. Now, first let me ask you to please hold your comments and letters as Mama don't care which team you play for. I don't care where you stick it - as long as you finish has always been my mantra. If I'm not in bed with you I don't need to know. But this gentleman, let's call him Methy because he was acting as though he might be coming off some holiday high on his treadmill. He was running and singing and he had his eyes closed and making little hand gestures. I couldn't help but watch him with a strange expression on my own face.

Now, I admit that I do enjoy a good song on my ipod. And, admittedly I will move my mouth and occasionally belt out a lyric or two from the GLEE soundtrack but old Methy was working out the entire choreography from what I can only imagine was Dream Girls or any given Beyonce tour. I mean, he was giving it a show - including the finger guns. You know that move where you pretend your fingers are a gun? Well, now that I think of it maybe he was singing Bang, Bang by Miss Cher? Or that Ricky Martin She Bangs song? I don't know why I care but I was really into the show - when... what the hell? Agnes's hang grazed the end of my nose.

Now, here I am minding my own business in between these two monkeys and Agnes has moved on to some move where she appears to be swimming - but only on the top half of her body. No body told the bottom half which was still on the damn elyptical machine. I jerked and looked over and poor Agnes still had her eyes closed. I imagined she thought she was that Darryl Hannah girl in the movie Splash. I glanced around and wondered if people were watching us. We must have looked like we were rehearsing for the half-time show at the Special Olympics.

So, I get my 25 minutes of sweat in and gather my things to go. I only do 25 because that's all Dr. Oz says I have to for good heart health. Then I get in the Cadillac and head over to get my lunch. You might ask what to eat after a cardio work out? Well Moe's, moderately priced Mexican take out has always been my favorite. I am standing in line when this woman with a bowl hair cut walks in behind me. Clearly, Bowl-head (as we will call her) is impatient because she is standing so close to me she could advise me on a better nightly mud mask. Honestly, children that Russian lady that gives me a facial doesn't get that close to pop a zit. I am in line and about three feet from the family in front of me and Bowl Lady is right up in my business. The man behind the counter asks if I am the proud owner of the kids burrito and I explained it was for the people in front of me. Then Bowl-Head chimes in, "If you move up they'll ring you up. " I turned to her and said sternly, " not before the family in front of me." She replied back, "I thought you were together." I couldn't resist saying, "Nope. I am trying to give them some space." I turn back around and wait my turn and about a minute goes by when I hear Bowl-Head huff and say, "this is taking forever." Now, chuldren, this whole incident took less than five minutes. I turn to Bowl-Lady and say, "Excuse me?" She huffs, "This is taking forever." That's when I thought I would lose my mind but I remembered I was in a work-out outfit and probably not looking so sane or smelling so good and it would be best to avoid a confrontation that could end up in a deposition. So, I smiled my best shit eating smile and said, " I think we'll all be okay if we wait our turn. It's a burrito we're both waiting on not world peace." But, Bowl-Head wouldn't let it go. She had to get the last word in, "Well I have things to do today." Is this bitch kidding me? She needs to go get a hair cut from the last two decades or get her tv fixed because she is getting fashion advice from that damn show FACTS OF LIFE. Instead, I stood still, very still and when we got to the register I said, "Would you like to go ahead? You've made it clear you're in a bigger hurry than the rest of us hear? I wouldn't want to hold you up. I'm just thrilled that they let me check out of the institution today to get my burrito on the outside." Then I paid for my lunch and Bowl-Lady's burrito and said, "I hope you have a better day you rude woman." I figured it was worth the $6.50 to say my peace.

Mary Christmas

2009-12-24T08:27:00.001-08:00

I hope all the chuldrens have a wonderful holiday. May your family be at arm's length and nobody goes to jail. Mama is taking some time off to enjoy the eggnogg. But I'll be back to tell you what sorts of ridiculous gifts I got that I intend to regift soon.

Peace on Earth and Love

Mother Barry

Laundry and Petty theft

2009-12-20T10:42:00.000-08:00

Here I sit on a Sunday, the Lord's day of rest doing laundry when I realize something. My fine linens don't match. You might call it petty theft but I call it memories. Yes, children Momma's towels are souvenirs from vacations gone past. I say if you paid $175 for the room you are entitled to at least one towel as a keepsake of your time spent at Atlantic City? Do you really think Caesar's Palace is missing that Celine Dion hand towel? I don't think those poor over worked and under paid house keepers noticed, and the memory puts a warm spot in my cold-as-ice heart. Listen, I'm not one of those crazies with a china hutch full of Precious Moments dolls or a Conway Twitty Memorial Plate set. I just sold my international spoons of the world collection at a swap meet three years ago. I just enjoy the occasional fine turkish towel. I don't take the robes because it's clearly marked they will charge you for them, but the towels are never mentioned in any fine print. Maybe one day I will launder them and return them to their rightful owners. But for now, I thought I'd share that nugget with you. Wipe that scowl off your face, it's not like I took the sheets. One time in Daytona City Beach cousin Earline took the sheets- yes the damn sheets- right off the bed and packed them up in her Samsonite luggage. Of course this is the same woman who says you can worm your kids. Naturally it's best to de-worm your family in a hotel where the sheets don't belong to you. But then she went and took them with her. Maybe she didn't worm that night? Maybe Earline is crazy as hell? Maybe I am but we aren't blood related. She married in as we say....well it's time for me to don my best puff paint and bejeweled Christmas jump suit and hit the mall. I even have my baby Jesus in the manger ear rings to go along with the nativity scene on the back of my jacket. It is a fetching number and people always ask me where I got it (usually in a scared or offended tune) but who are they to judge fashion? Only a few more days until Santa comes and all these little bastards ask if I got a gift receipt.

another cautionary tale: I love Bars

2009-12-19T13:21:00.001-08:00

I love a bar. So much that I had a wall removed in my kitchen to install a bar top. Lord knows I don't use the kitchen that much. Mama prefers to yell in a clown's mouth for dinner than to pull out the pots and pans. Besides, I don't want to disturb the mice that live in the cupboards- we have an agreement I don't hassle them and they don't bug me.

So, I put in a bar- I figured, I feel so at home in a bar I would feel -finally- more comfortable in my own shack if I had a bar. But it hasn't stopped me.

I realized this morning as I stumbled for ALIEVE at 6.a.m that isn't just the bar I love. Don't get me wrong, I love the drinks too. I have a new found admiration for Japanese Whiskey but he hates me back. It's like the worst relationship you ever had - Taylor Swift could write a song about me and Whiskey's codependent relationship.

But, my point is this: I love a bar. Not a dirty, smoky bar but a nice bar. I am weak for a marble counter top or even granite, either beats my formica counter tops. (Cut to vision: one day I will be glamorous and drinking on my bathroom floor from a box of wine while recovering from facelift and yelling at the help... a girl can dream.)

But mostly I love a bartender. Have you noticed the best drinking establishments hire the most attractive staff? And there I sit, hanging off either end of the barstool flirting my ass off and the only thing getting action is my credit card's bar tab... so children I tell you this is a cautionary tale: The bartender is working- not working you. Give up the fight.

It's like strippers... have you ever noticed that every stripper is working their way through school? They don't want to strip forever. No! And, honestly, they like you. You're nice and they are so glad to talk to you... There's going to be a wave of attractive, well educated, Doctors and Lawyer- former-strippers. Look out for it and remember I told you first.

So save yourself a lifetime of heartache and turn on the Days of Our Lives with that box of wine next to your recliner. Don't waste time on bartenders with big smiles and strong drinks. You'll just end up throwing up out the window of a taxi cab in the drive through of McDonalds while begging for extra BBQ sauce for your McNugget. (It's best to eat your feelings with BBQ sauce or Hot Mustard depending on your personal preferences.)

Seasons greetings, be safe

BaHumBug Crocs

2009-12-17T17:25:00.000-08:00

I do love the Christmas season. I love the little childrens singing, I love the Christmas time lighting in my neighbors' yards, I even put up a wreath (although upon close inspection it is bent from where I got it on sale a few years ago at a discount wholesaler that rhymes with Schmaller Schmrenal). I don't like to give free plugs to retailers this time of year but I do enjoy discount decorations. Anyways, I enjoy the holidays and mostly the eggnogs and chocolate covered varieties of things. Do you know any given carbohydrate will do as long as it's dipped in chocolate. Anything is better covered in chocolate- except fried chicken, that was a greecey mistake. And one time with an ex, that was not our best decision, the clean up is not as romantical as you thought when first setting out in your Valentine fondue experience.... but back to the holidays.

I love it, the store signs, the garland, the mistletoe...However, I don't enjoy shopping. I find myself impatient with people- lots of people. Most people. I was at this one big store we will call Schmacy's and there was a woman in one of those hover-around vehicles. I am not a prejudice person and Lawd knows I don't park in the handi-capable spots unless I am just running in to get something real fast. But, this heifer was moving slow until I walked up there and she had to run up behind me like I was in her way. I had been waiting behind her, trying not to disturb, so I went around her - a whole isle around because I respect boundaries. Again, I try to put Christ in Christmas and get out of her way. Until... it happened again. I find myself shuffling over to look at something I don't even want just to give her space. Why am I looking at Martha Stewart Mellon Ballers? Oh wait, Schmartha, oh to hell with it- you know what I was looking at. And, I don't even like melons. No, damn it, I want to look at bathrobes and Miss Big Wheels in my way again now. So, I move on over there and you know what happened? She rolled up on me. I turned around and jokingly said, "Can I see your insurance card ma'am?" She didn't think that was at all funny. She just grunted.... a grunt? If she had been in a Honda instead of a hover-around I could have sued. I've seen the commercials I am entitled to a settlement.

Well children, let's just say I was pleasant. I moved over to the vacuum cleaners section. But there she was again. Now how can you come up in between me and my lustfulness for a Dyson? At this point this woman had followed me around the store for more than half an hour. She had done ran up on my leg -and she was rude. I even offered at one point to help her pick up tray she couldn't reach. Do you know what I got? Nothing. No "thank you"... no "excuse me." She should have been picking up a scale is what she should have been putting in that basket. I love big people- but I can't handle rude big people. (Yes the windows in my glass house roll down so that I can throw the stones upon them.) I felt she had it out for me. I don't know why. I had tried to be nice and I had even tried to help her. But come between me and this dyson- you know they have been engineered for cleaning efficiency. No, this time she could move around me.

So, this was a spiteful little thing. But, I left the vacuum out that I had been pretending was mine. In my fantasy it was in my foyer, that I do not yet have. And, I took petty comfort as I heard the beeping sound of her reversing out the vacuum area.

I tell you one thing: this is a cautionary tale children. My spiteful karma got me in the end. I got home and found out my second order of Crocs has been cancelled. Now, I hate crocs, but some knot head in my family put it on his Christmas list. In my day crocs were loafers made of expensive endangered materials that I could not afford. Now they are plastic shoes with big holes in them? And the Crocs folks don't even email you to tell you the order is cancelled. They don't call you, or email or write you a letter like in the olden days. They don't twitter but you can follow- them there. Ironically, it's a one-way communication with the Crocs folks. Give us your order and wait....Nope you check the order after a week and if it still says "processing" that means you're gonna be crock-less under the tree on Christmas morning. What am I to do? Put a picture of those damn ugly shoes in a box? "Here you go, Santa's a little behind this year" No, I am a giver. I will go back out to Schmacy's and find some ugly Crocs in a size 11- so we can look at those big ugly clown shoes with holes in them. I just hope I don't run into that Big Wheel lady. She might drag me down the escalator behind her assault hover vehicle.

I hate crocs, but I do love eggnog

Rules of travel

2009-12-16T16:45:00.000-08:00

Since it's Holiday Travel Time I want to let in on some fun rules of travel:
If I were writing for the NewYorker and if I believed in subtitles it would say:

----- the airlines dont care about you & neither do I -----

I spent 13 hours getting no where. 4 airlines; 3 delays and 2 cancelations

passengers bill of rights, is non-refundable. I hate the airlines. If I ran my business that way I would be defunct... however we have to learn to be better passengers to each other.

THERE ARE 4 SiMPLE AiRline RULES:

1* Please do not pass gas. It is a small confined space and the smells are toxic. If no one guesses it was you, you still don't win. The same goes for number two in the lavaratory - wait damn it. The same goes for obnoxious food odors. Just because you want to eat it, doesn't mean I want to smell it for hours with no windows and recirculated air. Pizza hut "the works" tastes good to you but it doesn't sit too well with me in 19C

2* It is beyond rude to recline your seatback in COACH. The seats should not recline at all. I sustained a shattered hip and a broken fibulah I am sure. As soon as I find it and remove it from my pelvis, I will know if it is broken or dislocated. I didn't sign up for yoga 10,000 feet up. Worse yet. I only had pretzels and peanuts to comfort my pain.

3* No making out. While it may sound porno-hot, it is not a good idea. you are a spectacle for the poor fool in 19C who is forced to share the isle with the amorous couple- lucky me

4* DO NOT lean across the isle to stare out the window on the opposite side from you. Now I can imagine how disturbing this must feel for little newborn babies. Get out of my damn face with your big head and stupid face.

Bonus: dont bitch about your flight. odds are your co-passenger's wasn't any better and they don't give a fuxx about your layover or how you have something important to do that day. shove it. we are all strapped into the same gigantic aluminum suppository with wings hurling us above the earth at firey speeds. get a damn book and shut up

***my theory of the universe is that for every bad thing, you are due one good thing to come around. afterall it is the bad things that make the good things feel so good***

I'm so sick of Tiger Woods

2009-12-16T16:23:00.001-08:00

So today I started to blog and tweet at work- but only about work stuff. This blog, however, is just for fun. It makes me think though, do you always want to be connected to work? I mean it's one thing that we are all hard wired in with our blackberry and iPhone and what not... I do miss the days of a thermal fax machine and a telegram. But now I am going to write about work as though I am not just at work ... do you think a bank teller rolls coins at home in his or her spare time? Does a Doctor play Doctor at home? (well I did date a foolish Doctor once and I can tell you that "stick out your tongue and say ahh" isn't the same at home) Does a pro golfer like to unwind and hit a few holes? Yes this is a Tiger Woods set up...

I am fairly fond of that transition... I am not fond of Tiger Woods. We need to get up off Tiger because too many people have been on top of him. The real victim as we all know is his family. I tell you one thing- when my Grand Mame found out Grandpa had been "going out on her" she tossed a pot of boiling beans on his head at the dinner table. Now, I don't condone violence- at all- not one bit. But, I think the greatest punishment for Mr. Woods is to leave him alone- forget all about him. I hope his wife can move on, too. It's not about net worth- it's about self worth.

And more importantly... stop giving publicity to the Ho's. Every good ho knows you keep it on hush-hush. Again, the best thing we can do is forget about these trashy slurts. I'm going to let you in on a little secret here- some juicy tid bids for my reader(s), I too had once been a ho. There's a time or two MotherBarry fell into the wrong bed with the wrong person. We all make mistakes. We all fall down (or lie down as the case may be) but we didn't go after money or a movie or a spread in People. That's tacky. That's the difference in having some class or being a sloppy piece of ... you get my drift. Now, don't go and paint a mental picture of MotherBarry in a leather jacket with ripped fishnets. That was a long time ago in a far away land- we all make mistakes. I think we have all waken up in a hotel with more mascara than Adam Lambert, a beating headache and no idea where our underoos might be ... and thought, "this wasn't my best decision." If you haven't you're a better person than me and we probably wouldn't be friends unless you like to pick up the tab. But, when you've made that bad decision with 14 hookers it's time to take the trash out with the garbage.

Remember- make love not war. And, if he's married he's cheating you just like he's cheating her.

the blogger has two faces

2009-12-15T15:11:00.001-08:00

So today my day job asked me to be a "Social Media Expert." Being that I only launched this blog yesterday (which is in no way related and just for fun) I thought to myself, " Damn, I am good." I am blog master of the Universe. But Social Media Expert just sounds a little over-powering. I mean the social part gets me. I still second guess my water glass at dinner or which fork to use. Don't you just hate when you drink after your kin folk? I mean, hopefully they are clean people but no body wants to think about drinking after Uncle Larry. I mean, he's been eating turkey and dressing and popping tums like Aunt Lorna pops valium. And, since they're married I might be getting some residual valium with the turkey which likely explains why I am so tired. All this time I thought it was Epstein Barr (no relation to Roseanne Barr who I find fascinating although tiring as well.) So you see there's a lot of pressure being a social expert of any sort.

I prefer the title FACEBOOK CZAR. Of course I get no pay raise for any of this but it makes me more insufferable at cocktail parties. Guess what I am now... that's right a CZAR. Well I hope you are feeling empowered by my rise to this thrown. Maybe you can work the checkout counter at Woolworth's one day too if you put your mind to it and stop giving people those crazy eye looks. Back to the day job-

Mother Barry

I guess I don't need to sign every blog moving forward, you might guess who this is after a while

welcome

2009-12-14T17:34:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my blog. Today, I am a blogger. It is official, I am a writer, in fact. Or is it... I am, in fact, a writer? You are about to learn that I don't know the rules of punctuation but I am generally very punctual. I also don't know much about conjugation, or is that when you have a relations with your husband in prison? See, I tell you I don't know these things. This is about to be an adventure, and experience. (note my love of the "," comma). I am a commaholic.

I also tend to go on rants but I'll save you the boring stuff like how I am mad that my queso dip was left out of the bag today and a squirrel danced on the hood of my bmw and scratched it all to hell. I won't bother you with my political views because you should see your own views for yourself. My goal is to tell you a story everyday. If you don't like me- get to know me better. Because I am Mother Barry.